What Doesn't Kill You
by MissCyraf
Summary: ...Only makes you stronger. I had to keep reminding myself of that as I befriended a Vicomte, was rescued by a Phantom, fought with a diva, and defied the impossible several times over. EOC, movie based, some Leroux. Starts slow, but picks up, promise!
1. My True Dream Man

Hello, everybody! I'm MissCyraf, and, like many people on this site, am crazy-obsessed with "The Phantom of the Opera". I guess I should also say that I have kind of a weird writing style, I hope it doesn't offend any of you English majors out there, haha. This is my first phan-fiction, or any fan fiction for that matter, so please be easy on me. I do not own any of it, except my original characters. All in all, I loved writing it, and would really love any sort of constructive feedback, so I can improve. Thank you to all who read this, and thank you especially to my wondrous beta, MrsTiffanySparrow. I have a Deviant Art account if you would like to check it out, http://misscyraf. and thanks again! Now, on to Chapter One!

MissCyraf

1

"My True Dream Man…"

I glanced at the calendar. The 19th of September. It had been exactly four months from today that I walked in on my fiancé with another woman. For the past week I had been trying to prepare myself for today, trying to construct an emotional buffer to block the shot of pain that I knew would burn itself through my mind and body every time a memory of him would surface. Although I had made myself forget as much as I could about him and us, memories would still come though uninhibited. The date—the 19th—seemed to always be a catalyst, forcing me to remember, and forcing me to sit through shot after shot docilely. I wouldn't let those around me see the burn, I couldn't. That would only make them pity me, which would be worse than the memories if not the actual event. Anyway, it had been four months. Years in my life had seemed shorter, and for probably the millionth time, I wished life had a fast forward button so I could just move on. Or an erase, so I could just forget him entirely. It would be like he never existed. I made the mistake of telling my best friend that once; she had just clucked her tongue, shaking her head. " No, you'll be glad this happened eventually. Look at it like a learning experience. Remember: 'what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger'".

I had hated her for that. A low, boiling loathing that I reserved for few, especially Josh. Unlike my hate for Josh, though, it had all but dissipated, leaving me with that line. "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger". The line had run through my head at least a dozen times a day; it was practically my new motto.

Inhaling deeply as if the air were strength, I ripped the calendar from its flimsy thumbtack installment in the cork of the bulletin board, tossing it onto a chair across the room. It missed, landing upside down on the floor. Shrugging, I dismissed it, not wanting to touch it, like it carried the plague between its pages._ Perhaps emotional plague? Heh. Bad joke. At least my sense of humor isn't completely gone... _

Grabbing a file for a gerbil named "Sugar", I strode from the back room into the waiting room, plopping myself down behind the reception desk. I worked at a vet office part time to pay my way through grad school, or at least try to prevent as much debt as possible. The waiting room was completely empty, silent except for the occasional bubbling from the fish tank in the corner. My brief wave of good humor evaporated as I glanced around the room; everyone was avoiding me. I knew why, they knew all week that today was coming; Dr. Murphy suggested I take the day off. Dorothy, a nurse, even joked last week that the "Josh week" was worse than when I was on my period, and that she would probably have to take a vacation when both occurred simultaneously. I was not amused, but shrugged it off. Rapping a pencil against the desk, I flipped through the file. "Sugar" was "acting sluggish" and had an appointment with Dr. Murphy at 3:30. I glanced at the clock—3:22. Usually owners and patients arrived fifteen minutes early, but Mrs. Emerson, a gerbil hypochondriac who visited regularly, was generally five to ten minutes late. Bored by the file, and knowing I had some time to kill before I had to do anything, I flipped out my iPod, stuffing the little earbuds into place. The iPod on shuffle, I was pleased by the first song that came on, "Rockin' Robin"—my favorite "oldie". Heartened by the contagious beat and by the fact that it didn't remind me of love, I allowed myself to dance in the chair, knocking my pencil against the desk to the beat. _I'm alone, what the hell…_I began to sing along. I couldn't fight the urge that years of choir in school had built.

"Go Rockin' Robin 'cause you're really gonna rock tonight…tweet tweet tweleleet!"

"Um, hello? Gwen? " The nervous voice cut through my melodic warbling. I spun the chair around, seeing that Mrs. Emerson, for once, was on time. 3:30 on the dot. Wanting to smack myself in the face, I resisted the compulsion, and tore the earbuds out of my ears, not even bothering to turn off my iPod.

"Mrs. Emerson! I'm sorry, I must have gotten carried away. How's Sugar?" I stood, leading Mrs. Emerson to the examining room.

"Oh…she's still tucked in her box, she won't even come out for treats...I think she has pneumonia." I nodded helpfully, wondering if gerbils could even get pneumonia.

"Well, here we are. Please have a seat, and Dr. Murphy will be in shortly." I closed the door as she seated herself. My eyes immediately met the clock. The appointment wouldn't last long, and then I could leave. Dropping myself into my wheelie chair again, I replaced my earbuds. The song that it was currently playing instantly made my stomach flip as a recognized it. It was one of Josh's songs, off of a cd that he had made for me for Christmas the first year. _I thought I had gotten rid of all this shit_! I practically slammed the off button, vowing to remove it ASAP. Now officially in a bad mood, I doodled on a notepad to keep brain from conjuring memories that I did not want conjured. I was right about one thing, Sugar's appointment only lasted about fifteen minutes. Her heels clipping on the linoleum floor, Mrs. Emerson made her way to the desk, taking her checkbook out.

"Everything alright?" I asked as sunnily as my mood would allow. She flashed me a relieved smile, as always.

"Oh yes, everything's fine. Sugar's perfectly fine, just getting a little old…" She turned her attention to the gerbil, making little clicking noises at it. I decided that I'd rather not interrupt her with a response. Her payment made, she clipped out, all the while clicking at Sugar.

"Hey, Gwen, will you get everything all set in here?" Dr. Murphy called from down the hall. I checked the room, swiping off the counter with a disinfecting cleanser. Switching off the lights and locking the room, I called a goodbye to the good doctor and Dorothy. Dr. Murphy peeked from behind a corner to return my call, winking at me in his charming way. I allowed myself a silly smile as I grabbed my iPod and coat. He was the main reason I wanted to work here, he was incredibly cute. Charming, sweet, not at all evil like all other men, I had decided. Too bad he was at least fifteen years my senior and married.

Slipping my iPod into my coat pocket, I gazed at my doodle. I chuckled to myself as I tore the page away, crumpled it, and shoved it into my other pocket. "The Phantom", one of my favorite characters with his psychotic genius mind and terrifying face. . I liked the recent movie, the music the most, but often enjoyed reading Leroux's novel more. I had read the book long before seeing the film, and had always thought of the character as a villain. _A crazed genius that lives in a hole with a face so ugly he can't live in the normal world..._ _My true dream man…hah! Gross_. My smile caused now by my own ridiculousness, I strode out into the early autumn wind.


	2. Fragile

What Doesn't Kill You

2

"Fragile"

My mother called while I was in class. Waiting for the bus destined for home, I flipped out my phone to listen to the voicemail she left.

"…Hi Honey, it's me, Mom. Just wanted to remind you of this weekend. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I planned for us to go up to Fredericksburg and hit all the places on the way. I reserved a nice room for us at a bed and breakfast in town. I'm really looking forward to this! I was thinking about picking you up at about 8-ish, so gimme a call back! Love you! Bye-bye!"

Last month, which seemed like an eternity ago, Mom had made plans to take me antiquing with her, "in order to cheer me up, get me away from the city" was her logic. I figured that this weekend was more important to her than to me, so I decided to be the huge procrastinator that I am, and blow off the paper I was supposed to start this weekend. I would regret it later, I knew, but a change of scenery couldn't hurt. I found fall in D.C. to be rainy and dreary. Besides, since I moved out of the place Josh and I had been sharing, I realized that I needed new furniture. I had gotten rid of most of my old furniture when we got an apartment together, and when we broke up, I sold more, not being able to stand the sight of most of it. They brought back too many memories, and much of it still had his scent. The scent that had so attracted me to him now made me literally physically ill, and I doubted that I could've lived with it, not without becoming extremely bulimic as the smell made me feel like throwing up. Over the bus ride, I hashed out the plan with my mother, inwardly groaning at the thought of leaving at 8 am in the morning. That meant I would have to get up at 7 if I packed tonight. Having just spent most of the day in a lab, bending over equipment, I wasn't looking forward to digging through my closet for clean clothes. I had yet to do laundry.

Getting off the bus at my stop, I pulled my jacket tighter against my body, shivering slightly. For mid September, it had gotten cold extremely quick. I walked briskly to my building, up the stairs, and unlocked my door, dumping everything on the floor as soon as I was inside my apartment. I kicked off my "professional heels," reminding myself that despite how sleek and sophisticated they made me look, they were a no-no for labs. Shrugging my coat off and throwing it onto the coach, I pulled open my fridge, leaning on the door for support as my back complained. I grabbed a yogurt and jogged back to my couch, crash landing into the pile of pillows covering it. Digging into the yogurt, I turned on the TV, resting the remote on my stomach. I flipped channels at my leisure, pausing on a chick flick romantic comedy. Bitterness swelled and threatened to overcome me as I watched the male lead admit his mistakes and beg for forgiveness, pledging his eternal love for the young, beautiful heroine. I ground my teeth until I could stand the scene no longer, violently flipping the channel; at least, as violently as one could press a little button with their thumb. Jamming the yogurt spoon into my mouth, I decided nothing was on and retreated to my bedroom. Once again in my official bad mood, I crawled into bed, yanking the sheets up to my chin to balance the draft from my window. I picked up a "Cosmopolitan" that rested half open on my bedside table, turning pages lazily. Suddenly disgusted over the romantic sex stories and stick-thin models, I dropped the magazine under my bed, climbing over to the end where I could reach my bookcase. I perused through the titles, grinning giddily as my eyes touched the last in row. Reaching, I pulled it out, scanning the cover. Leroux's original The Phantom of the Opera. Remembering my funny little sketch in the vet's office weeks ago, I leaned back into bed with my choice. Feeling extremely anti-love, the tragic tale of twisted, distorted love attracted me. It was my favorite story and always pulled me in: "The Phantom," the perfect bad guy. He wasn't after world domination or anything, just the love of a beautiful young woman. The story didn't _seem_ too far-fetched, even though it was. Almost instantly enveloped in the story, it was two in the morning before I even felt tired. Shuddering at the horror that was "The Phantom" after I read a chapter in which he was terrorizing a poor young couple, I glanced at my alarm clock, cursing under my breath as I realized the time. I set it for 6:30. I still needed to pack. Rethinking that time out of pure laziness, I reset it for 7, thinking I could probably skip breakfast and pack fast. Turning out the light, I cuddled into my pillows. Falling into a heavy slumber that only pure exhaustion inspired, I dreamt of a masked man cloaked in darkness.

o o o o o

Quaking like a fall leaf in a light breeze, Christine wrapped her arms around her body in a subconscious effort to hide. Her rigid costume making the gesture difficult, she began to merely wring her hands in front of her. Her senses seemed heightened, her peripheral vision catching every movement. Already anxious, she jumped nearly out of her skin when Monsieur Reyer suddenly triggered the orchestra to play. Opening night was but a few days away, and the rehearsals were not running smoothly. Everyone in the company was on edge, and the bizarre, scandalous motifs of the opera didn't help. Tensions high, everyone was at their worse, Christine especially. She felt like his eyes were always on her, like she could never escape them. Passiveness embedded in her personality, she reacted to his predation like a month old fawn, shying away from everyone and withdrawing into her fear. Even Meg, her best friend, and Raoul, her fiancé, could not draw her out of the fear she had succumbed to.

"Mademoiselle Daae, if you please!" Monsieur Reyer's nasal voice called out as the music stopped.

Snapping to attention and embarrassment at missing the cue coloring her cheeks, Christine nodded. The chords struck again, and she burst into song. Nervousness made her quiet, falter and crack. After a few measures of guttural imperfection, her accompaniment stopped.Monsieur Reyer glared at her sternly.

"Ms. Daae, perhaps you need a rest. Five minutes everyone!"

With a flick of his wrists, and a low grumble waving through the company, the crowd on stage dissipated into the wings. Attempting to wrap herself in her arms again, and wishing she was back to being invisible rather than the star, Christine fought back tears of stress, fear and embarrassment. When a hand pressed into her shoulder, she jumped.

"Christine, it is alright! It is only me," Meg said, rubbing her back in an effort to calm her. Her effort failing, Meg wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder, leading her to backstage. "Christine, you have been so uneasy lately, whatever is wrong?"

Christine pulled into herself, her voice a mere whisper. "He is watching. He is _always_ watching. He will not leave me alone. Oh Meg! He will be so angry with me! I am trying my best, but I just want to get away! I cannot go through with this!"

She turned abruptly, burying her head into Meg's shoulder, built up tears freely flowing. Weeks ago, Meg would have been able to comfort Christine, secure in the knowledge that her "Angel" did not exist. Having seen at the masquerade ball that Christine's "angel" and the Phantom, in whom she devotedly believed, were one in the same, she could no longer comfort her. Instead she tried to just hold her, rocking the star of _Don Juan Triumphant _in her arms. Meg wished that Raoul was here; he would know just what to say to make Christine feel better. He always did. Christine believed in Raoul so entirely, Meg knew that anything he said would comfort her. _Christine is very ignorant that way. She believes anything she is told so blindly. She is too trusting._ _She is older than me, and yet is so very much a child. _Despite Christine's character flaws and constant exhausting problems, Meg did her best to take care of her. People began to shuffle past them, headed back to the stage. Pulling out of the embrace, Christine stood erect, wiping the tears from her face. Meg scowled ever so slightly. Even when she was sobbing, the young star was beautiful. Rich chocolate curls fell about her face, focusing concentration on her wide light brown eyes. A petite nose and thin, but delicate lips sat in a heart-shaped face, embraced by porcelain skin. Though redness from her crying surrounded her eyes, it did nothing to harm her almost fragile beauty. _Fragile. That's a good word for Christine. She always needs to be protected, lest she fall apart_…Meg rolled her eyes every so slightly, and pulled the hesitant Christine back on stage.

o o o o o

We had already been to two antique stores earlier in the day when my mother spotted signs for another. Squatting in a small town somewhere between D.C. and Fredericksburg, the antique store looked like little more than an old cottage as they pulled into the parking lot in front of it. I hummed low in my throat, unsure if the place was worth our time. My back was hurting still from yesterday's heels, and as I climbed out of the car, I yet again cursed my stupidity for wearing them. I had felt like looking professional, but in the long run, it was better to be comfortable. I had sworn off all but the men in novels, and didn't care what I looked like while traveling with my mother. So, I had headed out the door with no make up, sweat pants, a T shirt and an old pair of sneakers. Comfortable. _That, and it's easier to ignore wanting to be desired if you don't feel desirable…_My mother briskly marched around the car, making a beeline for the entrance of the shop.

"Mom, this place looks pretty run down," I suggested, following her reluctantly.

"Well, sometimes the rural ones have the most interesting things," she responded, still confidently heading towards the store.

_Rural. Is that how she describes shitty?_ I followed. My back might hurt, but stretching my legs did feel good.

A wizened old woman smiled at us from the desk next to the door as we entered. My mother automatically moved to the back, she always liked to start from the back and work her way to the front so she didn't have to backtrack through things she had already looked at. A smile played lightly on my lips as I considered her system. I tended just to browse casually, going where things caught my eye. Remembering my true purpose, furniture, I looked for that section, only to find that it was in the basement. Surprised that the cottage even had a basement, I ducked downstairs. Old wing-backed chairs that needed refurbishing, footstools, bedside tables and lamps from the thirties were in front. _Not interested. I want something pretty as well as comfortable, and interesting_. I thumbed an old chaise lounge chair, my interest piqued slightly. Deciding that the fabric was horrible, the frame weak, and the smell revolting, I moved on only to discover a medium sized dining room table. Curious, I went to inspect it, having to slide my thin but gawky frame in between the lounge chair and a heavy bookshelf. Moderately pleased with the table, I ran my hands over the dusty wood. _Oak?_ Seeing that the legs were carved, I attempted to bend to see the design, but instead ending up sitting on a shelf of the bookcase behind me. Seeing no other choice, I ducked under the table to get a better look. Crawling, I grimaced as cobwebs caught my face, sticking to my mouth. Wiping them off with the back of my hand, my elbow caught something hard, knocking fabric away from it. Turning to see what I hit, I came face to face with a person, letting out a yelp before I realized it was myself. _It's official. I'm a dumbass._ It was a mirror, propped up against the back end of the table. Though the light was fairly dim, I was immediately attracted to its charm. The frame had a flower and vine carved motif, and with its golden gilding, looked like it had just been plucked off of Louis the Sun King's wall in Versailles. Fingering the beautiful carvings, I instantaneously made up my mind that I was buying the mirror. I began to climb out from under the table before I remembered to look at its legs. The carvings had been broken off on the two back legs. I had liked it, but not enough to buy it with busted legs. Crawling out into the narrow passage between it and the bookshelf, I hurried upstairs to tell Mom.

It took at least ten minutes to find her. She had tucked herself away in a dusty corner, an old glass teapot tucked under her arm. Though reluctant, I managed to pry her away from the shelf, convincing her that I had found the most amazing thing she would ever lay her eyes on. Though she knew I was exaggerating, she was intrigued and followed me to the mirror. Getting the mirror out of the mess of furniture without shattering it was quite a challenge, even with both of us trying. It was a full body mirror, and much heavier than I expected. After a half an hour of struggling, we were able to maneuver it out. Exhausted, Mom rested it against a heavy bookshelf. I vigorously wiped the dust off of it with my sleeve, hoping to get a better view. Stepping back, I sucked in my breath in awe.

"Mom, I have to buy this mirror. Look how gorgeous it is!" Not even paying attention to her reaction, I petted at the frame, grinning sheepishly like an idiot. I barely even heard her muttering as she inspected it.

"My, Gwen! It looks really old. How much is it?"

I hunted for a tag, and when I found it, my fluttering heart seemed to dump into my gut.

"Ugh, six hundred dollars. I can't afford that," I chewed my lip in utter disappointment, releasing the mirror as I released my excitement.

"Hmm…no. But I can."

As I absorbed her words in astonishment, for she never sprang for something this expensive, she flashed me a brilliant, if mischievous, grin. I gave an exuberant squeal, which I ordinarily would have never deigned to let escape my lips, as I sprang at her, wrapping my arms around her neck in a joyful hug. Grabbing the top of the mirror, and Mom grabbing near the bottom, we lugged it up the stairs. Though I felt like my arms were about the break off the entire time, we were able to get it up the stairs and to the front desk. Mom produced her glass teapot, and began to purchase the items. Squinting at the mirror as I propped it up against my body, the wizened old clerk clucked her tongue.

"Are you sure you want this mirror? It's very old, and very expensive…and the back's broken," she waved a vague cracked hand at it. I glanced at the back. She was right, the wooden panel behind the actual mirror had a hefty crack down the back. I hoped Mom and I didn't give it the crack as we hefted it up the stairs. Or made it worse.

"Yes, my daughter likes it, and needs some new furniture," Mom answered, eyeing the old woman suspiciously. To me she whispered, "Don't worry, I'll get your father to fix it." The old clerk scowled. _She seems reluctant to let it go…_The clerk stared at it for a few more seconds, and then nodded, ringing it up on her cash register. After a painful arm-wrenching trip to the van, we were able to flatten the back seats and secure the mirror inside. Before closing the trunk, I happily patted the frame_. My new baby. Much better than a boyfriend. Or fiancé…Hm. How sad is that?_ I shook my head to dispel my stupid thoughts.

The rest of the day passed slowly. We stopped at three more antique stores, and my mother found porcelain chamber pots and more glass teapots to add to her vast collections at home. I barely had enough energy to rejoice when I saw the bed and breakfast. Trudging upstairs to our room, I didn't even bother to change into night clothes; my back and feet were too sore and stiff. My mother, on the other hand, had energy to spare, and hummed happily to herself as she carried the bags upstairs. She flipped on all the lights, made pleasant exclamations about the various objects in the room that met her approval, and then began to draw herself a bath. Groaning, I covered my head with a pillow, too weary to even get up to turn off the lights.

- - -

"Uuhhh…mmgo away…" I slapped out in the direction of the hands that were shaking me.

"Honey, come on. Breakfast is being served downstairs, and then we have to get ready to go."

Mom was shaking me. _Bloody early riser_. I grumped, grumbled, groaned, and then sat up, rubbing my face feebly with my palms.

"Uh Mom, I think I'm going to take a shower and get ready. Why don't you just grab me something? Like a roll or toast or a muffin or something?" I stretched, my back protesting.

"Alright, I'll grab you something. I'll get you fruit too, you need to eat more fruit."

Rolling my eyes as she quit the room, I shuffled into the bathroom, running the shower. I leaned over the sink as I waited for the water to warm up, staring at my sleep-fluffed face, grimacing at the pillow lines and bags under my eyes. I knew they would de-poof, and I knew the lines would vanish, but I couldn't ignore the other flaws. The worst of them were my drawn-out eyes, still brandishing much more pain than I would have liked to let on. Scowling mercilessly at my reflection, I smacked the mirror, and turned my back on it.

Mom was true to her word. Handing me a plastic bowl of mixed fruit, a muffin, and a bagel, she grabbed our overnight bags and loaded the car. I offered to help, but she replied that the best way for me to help was by eating all the fruit. Snorting, I shoveled it into my mouth gracelessly, plopping into the front passenger seat. The drive home was long, and besides random bursts of conversation, quiet. Mom wanted to know everything that was happening in my life, like parents do, but there were portions of it I just wasn't ready to talk about yet. She asked how I was holding up, if I was seeing anyone yet. Though I inwardly snorted, I outwardly told her that I hadn't met anyone. Her face pinched as she considered this, and I knew, feeling nauseous bubbling of dread rise within me, that she was going to lecture me on it. _Here comes the hurricane…_

"Gwen…" she glanced over at me, raising one of her hands to rub at the shadows under my eyes, the whole time her gaze darting back and forth from the road to my face. "You haven't been doing very well lately." The dread blinked into a seething fury immediately. I bit back the bitter sarcastic retort that stung on my lips.

"Oh? What makes you say that?" I tried to sound as calm and normal as possible, but even to myself it sounded awkward.

"A mother knows," she started. I couldn't hold back a malicious snort.

"Gwen, you have to stop obsessing over this. It's over; you know it's over. You have to move on."

Logically, I knew she was right. _But I'm not a very logical person. I don't want to move on, I want to go back in time and just fix it. Change it. Change me._ My mother kept on talking, but I had tuned out, darker thoughts clouding out my surrounding. Being honest with myself, I wondered why she had made me so angry by saying that I wasn't alright. _It's because I'm not alright. And I haven't been for a long time…Longer than just since the breakup._ It had been excruciatingly painful, yes, but it wasn't what had pushed me down; at least, not in the first place. _I've lost myself…_The thought drifted through unbidden, I wanted to ignore it. It was blatantly true, though. It had literally been years since I was genuinely happy. Not even happy, content. Somewhere, somehow, I had abandoned the strong, confident, content person that I was, now all that remained was a confused shell, wanting desperately to get back on track but not knowing how_. What's wrong with me?_ Mom continued on, her voice pitching to a new level with her excitement. She had begun to rant about this "great young man" that just started working for Dad. As we neared DC, she casually let slip that she and Dad were throwing a dinner party thing, and that he would be attending, and how she thought how wonderful it would be for me to come. I sunk into my seat, knowing that she was planning what would ultimately be the worst night of my life. I could just tell her that I wasn't over Josh yet, that I simply wasn't ready, but the stubbornness that harbored itself in my very genes wouldn't let me admit it. It wasn't just that I wasn't over him, either, I was afraid to try to get close to anyone, not while I was a confused mess. _Not while I'm vulnerable, weak…_I considered the concept of this "young man" of hers. I knew that it would be awkward and probably unpleasant, me not being ready to see other people_. Maybe I can just force myself._ And perhaps, somehow, Josh would get wind of the fact that I was seeing someone too, and it would perhaps, hopefully, destroy him. It was incredibly stupid, I knew, but I continued to stretch impossible scenarios into silver linings. While I considered various situations of Josh hearing the news and being crushed by it, Mom continued to prattle on about the party. In any case, I knew that I wasn't getting out of it. As we entered the city, I sighed.

"Alright, when is it?" Delighted that I had officially accepted her "invitation", she gave me the details. "Friday October 19th. Eight o'clock."

"Oh Mom! I _can't_ go the 19th! That's _THAT_ day!" I threw my arms around my head like I was five again. And like I really was five, she glared.

"That's probably for the best, Gwen. It will help replace the old bad memories with new good ones. Besides, you're obsessing with this day thing, and by then it will have been five months. It's about time you got over it." I moaned from my cocoon of arms.

"It's a black tie affair because your father's boss will be attending. The young man is his boss's nephew, so no matter what day it is, I expect you to be courteous. Oh! And you should wear that pretty green dress! It brings out your eyes."

"Mom, my eyes are blue," I grumbled from my cocoon. She was telling me to be on my best behavior, and picking out my clothing. I was beyond five, I was four.

She laughed lightly at that. "I know that, sweetheart. Alright, do you want me to help you carry your bags? I guess I'll just leave the mirror where it is, and have your father take a look at it later. I know! You can pick it up at the party." I fought a grimace, she was just making sure I came…_Clever. Taking my baby hostage_. But I merely smiled weakly and leaned over to give her the customary hug. She squeezed my shoulders.

"Don't worry, honey. Everything will be just fine." I nodded, as if accepting that now that she had said everything would be fine, there was no way in the world it couldn't be. Reaching into the back to grab my bag, I patted my mirror again. _Don't worry, I'll save you from them soon_…Waving goodbye, I skipped up the stairs of my building.


	3. You Would Leave Your Angel?

What Doesn't Kill You

3

"You Would Leave Your Angel...?"

Brilliant green eyes scanned the stage of the Opera Populaire. Only a small collection of ballerinas were left on stage, Madam Giry drilling them again and again until they were prefect. The edge of his lips curled into a slight wry smile_. Now there is a work ethic to be admired…Where is everyone? Where is Christine?_ Slipping away from his position amid the curtains, pulleys and rafters, he climbed onto the hanging walkways above with the ferocious grace of a jungle cat. Ever mindful to stay out of sight, he crept through passageways in the walls that no one else was aware of, seeking his prey. _Beautiful Christine_. With his uncanny hearing, it wasn't long before he caught airy wisps of her voice coming from her dressing room. A vicious scowl soon followed, he'd picked up another voice. _Probably that fool of a fop. How can she allow one so unworthy in her presence?_ Finding the passage that connected to her room, he moved to his place behind her mirror, able to see the entire room from his vantage point. A young man, swathed in the latest fashions that the best of Paris provided, was seated in a heavily cushioned chair beside her vanity. Seated before it, the lovely star of "Don Juan Triumphant" was preening, primping her hair. The silent observer's eyes hung on her, enraptured by her delicate, effortless beauty.

"As soon as this ridiculous show is over with, we can leave Paris, live in my villa in Marsielle. You will love it there, Christine. And you will never have to come back to this place ever again," The young man reasoned. Christine frowned prettily, as if confused.

"Do not say such things, Raoul. The Opera Populaire is my _home_, I could not stay away _forever_. All of my friends are here, and I will want to see the shows." The observer, who was gritting his teeth at Christine's would-be abductor, focused again on the young woman, hopeful that she would ignore her young suitor.

"Do not be foolish, Christine. This man is a greater threat than even you realize. We must escape him, and to do that, we must leave Paris for good. To where he cannot follow us." _Hah. I could follow you anywhere, fool. Dot you not realize that I know everything that is said, everything that is done in my opera house? _Christine glanced at him, her fragile brows furrowing in worry.

"Is there at least opera in Marsielle?" She asked, turning back to the mirror to apply a light pink balm to her lips. Raoul brightened, seeing his opportunity to persuade her.

"Of course there is. We could see all the opera you want there," This seemed to satisfy her, she smiled.

"Good then. I will be your wife, so I will not be able to perform any longer, but I still wish to see the opera, Raoul. It is my _life. _And I will want to invite Meg to come visit," She replied, continuing to prep her reflection. The watcher's heart sank, he felt like choking. _You would leave me, your Angel, for him? For that idiotic fool whose only cares are of his clothing and hair?_ He chose to believe that for Christine, the opera, the _music_ really _was_ her life. He ignored the obvious fact that even now, her cares were really only about herself. He watched her longingly as she fluffed her brown coiled plaits, pinched her cheeks to make them blush. _I have to stop this, I have to stop him. He is taking away my inspiration, my goddess of song! I will NOT let him!_ He glared daggers through the mirror as Raoul stood to leave.

"I leave you to your rehearsals, my dear. I shall come to get you later this evening for dinner?" Christine, soothed, didn't bother to look up from her grooming, nodding. "Until later then, Christine," The young Vicomte planted a kiss on her cheek. "My angel of music." With that, he strode from her dressing room, the door clicking shut behind him. Christine stood, frowning and wrapping her arms around herself, and gazing around the room.

"Life not in the Opera Populaire…" After a few moments of what appeared to be serious thought, she moved to her wardrobe, plucking a satin green gown from the swarm that were overly stuffed into it. The observer, though he would have loved to stay and watch her go about her afternoon, turned away, stomping down the passage. _HIS "angel of music"!?! That—that vile, disgusting little worm! How can I prevent this? He will take her away after opening night. I could follow her to Marsielle, but she will marry him! No. I cannot let that happen, he is not worthy of her. If she would just stay here, with my music, with _me_, then everything would be fine. It would be perfect. I will _make_ her stay with me. She believes he loves her, but she cannot know what real love is until she sees _mine_! I must simply prove to her what I will do for her! I will do whatever it takes!_ Madness boiled behind his eyes, pumped through his veins. Practically shaking with rage and fueled by the insanity that had now completely overcome him, he followed the pathway until it dipped into a lake of near-freezing water. He climbed into a small black boat, his mind churning, working at how to keep his love, his Christine.

o o o o o

Leaning into my bathroom mirror, I attempted to correct the lipstick smudge under my lip. I was due at the party any minute, I told Mom I would be there in a half hour over forty minutes ago. She was a stickler for punctuality, and I knew I would be getting a call about my tardiness soon. _I hate this. What was she thinking? She knows how I feel about the 19__th__, why would she do this to me! Ok, relax. This isn't about you. Just calm down, go to the party, pretend like you're having a great time…even with Mom's random blind date guy…just get it over with. It's only a day. Yes. Not even, maybe like three and half hours. I can do this._ Wiping the excess lipstick on a washcloth, I stood back to consider my appearance. I wore a satiny Kelly green form fitting dress that wisped across my toes when I wore my black heels. Criss-cross fabric pieces circled my waist, ran up my sides and then cross again to form an elegant high-necked halter top. I wore silver chain earrings with black crystals hanging from the ends, and a few black pins in my hair to match. While squeezing into the dress was harder than I remembered it being since the last time I wore it, the real challenge was in getting my unruly auburn mess into a hairstyle that was both elegant and kept it out of my face. Although my hair was pretty short—I had long locks that I had been rather proud of, but chopped them off to create a "new me" when Josh and I broke up—only reaching a few inches below my ears, my curls tangled easily, and taming them into a respectable look seemed like a daunting task. With a straightener in one hand, gel and mousse in the other, and a comb in my mouth, it took me at least twenty minutes to manage. Another half hour for makeup as I coated my under-eyes with concealer, hoping the dark circles from an all-nighter paper spree would miraculously vanish. Mascara, a red-brown eyeliner to match my hair ever so slightly and off set my blue-grey eyes, and a rosy lipstick. I ignored blush, feeling like it would have looked like too much. _I guess this is the best I can do…_I could still see about a million flaws, but I hoped that no one else would notice. Applying deodorant while clomping in my strappy black heels to my bedroom, I ran through my head a mental list of things I wanted to take. Tossing the deodorant stick onto my bed, I dug through the little sequined black purse I had planned to bring, checking off items in my mental list. _Lipstick, concealer, eyeliner, mascara…little brush, cellphone, money, ID, hair bands, bobby pins, keys, breath mints? Chapstick…_I had to stuff the chapstick into the clutch, my list barely able to fit into the little bag. Grunting as I forced the clasp shut, I made a mental note not to open it if I could help it. I clopped back into the bathroom, leaning contorting my body so I could see it at different angles. Heartily wishing I had my beautiful full length mirror, I smoothed my dress, checked my teeth, slipped the chain of the purse around my head, and headed out the door, the party looming before me. '_What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger_…'

I hung by the back wall in my parent's living room, avoiding the lovely couples as they glided around each other, exchanging pleasantries. A drink in one hand, my purse in the other, I felt awkward, and would have loved to been invisible. Several people made eye contact, approaching me. I made basic conversation, but felt a little oppressed by the crowd and generally ended them as quickly as possible. Over the past few months, I had developed a nervousness around people, a strange phobia that they were always judging me. The party set-up was like a nightmare to me, I was surrounded by people I didn't know in my parent's rather large home, not a familiar face in site. I wasn't exactly sure what caused my anxiety originally, only that I was never a particularly outgoing person, and always attended big parties with Josh. As a photographer trying to make it big in fashion, we had attended many fancy "swarees", as he liked to call them. He was the outgoing one, a regular social butterfly. I never really had to do or say anything on his arm, just smile and act like I was having a good time. Now though, my shield was gone, and I was alone. _Alone in a room full of people….It doesn't seem possible, but somehow I manage. God, why did I have to go to this? I'm so bad at things like this and people are staring…_I wasn't sure if they actually were or not, I just felt like all the eyes in the room were pasted to me, as if a bright spotlight were on me. _I almost wish there was a spotlight, maybe then I could at least pretend it was a show and pretend to be someone else…_

My mother had yet to see me, and I was hoping to avoid her and "the young man" she had insisted on me meeting in the car. I wondered vaguely how long I would have to stay to be polite and keep Mom happy. I had run into Dad earlier, he had been hanging in the background too, never one for big parties. We had jokes at our introverted-ness, and then Mom began to call for him. Making my escape, I fled to the living room to look busy and inconspicuous. Though my plan for being unnoticed by my mother had worked, I was now blessedly, yet awkwardly, alone. My solitude didn't last. I saw Mom making a beeline for me, her eyes locked on mine, dragging some poor fellow behind her with a vice-like grasp.

"Gwen! Finally I found you! Your father said you were here…" I tried not to frown at his betrayal. "This is Jonathan. He works with your father. Jonathan, this is my daughter, Gwen. She's a grad student at Georgetown." She pulled Jonathan over to me, swinging him around in front of her so we were only about two feet apart. Her hands on his back, she shoved him ever so slightly, so we stood now only a foot apart. Flashing me a wide smile, my mother abruptly turned on her heel and left. That left me with Mr. Jonathan. I gave him a wry half-smile.

"Sorry about my mother, she can be very pushy sometimes…" He laughed as awkwardly as I felt, and I sincerely wished I had been left alone after all. At least I could look mysterious in my seclusion. He brought up my studies, asking about my focus and what I planned to do with it. At first I was relieved, thinking that I could talk on hours about this topic. I was surprised, though, to find how quickly the conversation dried up. He was politely interested, agreeing and asking questions where he should, but something about him gave me the creeps. He had a pleasant, perhaps handsome, face with light brown slightly curling hair cut close to his head. Bright eyes, but seemed to withdraw coldly, like there were darker thoughts behind them. Wide smile, but perhaps too wide for the subject manner, and flashed at strange points in the conversation. His posture sloped toward me slowly, leaning a bit too close to me. I would take a small step back, and he would follow, his eyes wandering over my face, neck, below. He brought up more topics, his education, his interests, asking questions about mine. I became increasingly uncomfortable as his eyes roamed around, his friendly smiles became leers. I tried to hide my discomfort, but was fairly certain it was apparent to him. I was beyond nervous, and talking to a strange man who didn't seem to understand social boundaries was getting to me. His eyes never left me, behind his laughs there seemed to be a sort of calculation and analysis. I wondered what he could possibly be analyzing. _Me? Trying to see if I would make a good girlfriend or maybe even one night stand…No. Don't be stupid, Gwen. No one is interested in you, and even if this guy was, I'm really not into him. He's…creepy. What was Mom thinking? _

At the soonest break in the conversation, I excused myself, saying that I had to use the restroom. He watched me as I walked away, and feeling trapped, I headed to the bathroom hoping to see a friend or parent on the way. Knowing that he was still watching me, I strode down the hall to the bathroom, passing my mirror. I paused, turned to it, touching it slightly. I saw movement behind me, and a flash of panic drove me to scurry into the room, slamming the door behind me. Locking it, I leaned against it, sighing. Pulling out my phone, I checked the time. Ten. I had already been there somehow for two hours. _Have I wasted that much time on that creep?_ _What the _hell_ was Mom _thinking_? How could she not see how icky he is! How am I supposed to get out of here without him swooping on me again? _Gripping my phone, an idea struck me. I flipped it open, started dialing the house number. Mom or Dad would pick up, I could tell them how yucky weird he was, and they would save me, whisking me away to meet other people or perhaps even to a cab home. As genius as the plan was, it was doomed from the start. No service. I cursed the reception hole that was my parents' home, and slumped back against the door. I would have to handle it myself. Standing erect, throwing my shoulders back, and forcing my most confident, aggressive smile, I quit the bathroom. He was waiting for me. I felt my new-found confidence draining with every step I took toward him down the hall. No one else was, around they were all huddled in the living and dining rooms, loudly conversing. He stood in front of my mirror, his figures running over the frame, the glass. Suddenly I was furious, feeling violated. He turned his head slowly, eyes wandering over my form. Not allowing myself to be intimidated, I gave him a devilish, hard smile.

"Like my mirror?"

"Yes, I was just admiring it. Beautiful piece. It's yours?"

"Yes, I picked it up in a little shop a few hours from here. I'm very fond of it." He nodded, once again invading my bubble by standing too close. I stood between him and the mirror, feeling like it was my purpose to defend it from him. In the hall away from the crowd, the din of people had faded into a hum. The light was neutral, not too bright, not dim. The hall was decorated pleasantly, my mother loved simple elegance and the hall, just like the rest of the house, reflecting this. And yet, I felt like the environment was pressing down on me. As I stood between Jonathan and the mirror, air seemed unable to reach me. I felt like I was choking as we stared at each other, a showdown of will. He looked down first. Victorious, I allowed myself a smirk. I never expected his sudden fluid movement as he slammed me back into the mirror, one hand seizing my arm, the other pressed against my mouth, covering it completely. Pressing his full body weight against me, I was unable to move, to shout, to even slam my knee into his groin, which was my first reaction. Pressing more weight against me, I felt the glass begin to crack behind me. I struggled, trying to loosen his grip or maneuver his hand so I could bite it. Fighting the panic, I tried to tell myself that he was stuck. He would have to let go of me sometime, we were in the open in my parent's house. And as soon as he did… _I WILL KILL HIM_! Rage and fear started to block out the logic as my baby splintered into my back. I thrashed from side to side and minute pieces of glass fell, other shards of glass cutting into my flesh as I fought against him. As I tried to recall anything from the self defense class I had taken a few years ago, the glass drew blood, I could feel it running paths down my back. The pain only increased my struggle, my mind reeled, self-defense moves flitting through to find one that would remedy the situation. But I was unable to move, his full weight pressed against me. The glass penetrated deeper, pure fury overtook me. Blinded by anger and terror, I hardly felt the glass give way behind me. My nails digging into the wrist that was gripping mine, the support behind me gave way. Jonathan was the only thing now keeping me upright, and he abruptly released me, trying to step backward. I was still clawing at him, and he only achieved in dragging me forward. Now completely off balance, I flailed, teetering backwards, expecting to hit the mirror, or the wall. It never came.


	4. Everyone Wants to be Special

What Doesn't Kill You

4

"Everyone Wants to be Special…"

The day of opening night. Sun streamed through circular windows into the lobby of the Opera Populaire, highlighting Christine's chocolate coils and soft features. Despite the comforting warmth of the fall sun, she felt cold inside. Terror sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach, and she cringed involuntarily. Raoul would soon meet her, along with the managers. They were out of the opera house, probably in some small hidden bistro discussing their plans. He had told Christine at dinner the night before; they were going to catch the Phantom. 'It is the only way, Christine! Do you understand? The only way we will be able to get away from him is to have him finally caught! To rot away in prison, hanged even! He is not an angel, you said yourself he is nothing but a man! While he lives, he will haunt us 'til we're dead!' Christine had cried, sobbed, in Raoul's arms, terrified of having to face her angel of death. 'You will perform. If you sing, he is certain to attend. We will be sure the doors are barred and guarded. He will have no escape, and we will finally be rid of him!' He was resilient against her petrified tears. 'You will perform, Christine. You will.' Tonight, she would perform.

_I could have said no. I want to... He wouldn't listen. He will be my husband soon…it is not my place to refuse him. _All of her instincts told her that his plan was a mistake, something would go wrong. She would be lost forever to her "Angel", never to have the warmth of the sun on her face again, always kept in the darkness. Shuddering, she tried to push away the thoughts of the darkness. _If only he could live in the light, we could be happy. It could be so wonderful. He is so talented, he is a genius. He created me, made me what I am now… He listens to what I say, he cares about what I think…but I could _never_ live with that face. Everything else about him is wonderful, but he is so ugly. It is terrible, truly dreadful. He has the face of a monster…I could not survive with that face, always looking, always staring…Nothing but that face for company…_ She shook her head, pushing her thoughts to Raoul. _He is very handsome. And wealthy, he can take care of me. We will live better than I ever could hope to in the Opera Populaire. I _will_ be happy._ Her features set into a delicate mask of determination, she nodded along with her thoughts, as if to convince herself she was making the right decision. _Raoul is right. I will never get the wonderful life I want with that—that Phantom—on my heels. But he loves me, he will follow me anywhere…It is frightening._

At the same time, though she wouldn't admit it to herself, the thought intrigued her. She had always loved the attention her Angel had given to her, even in his most frightening moments. His attention, an Angel's attention, was something that had always made her feel important, special. _Everyone wants to be special_. Throughout her entire life, she had been shoved into a corner, ignored or not noticed at all. Because of her Angel, she had become special, not only to him, but to everyone. Now that she knew him to be the dreaded Phantom of the Opera, she had been terrified, and yet oddly pleased. The idea of a powerful ghost, a terror-inducing legend, fighting for her, making her a star, had been strangely flattering. But then Raoul had come, and had given her just as much attention as the Phantom had. _And Raoul is very appealing. He offers me a life that the Angel, or the Phantom, never could_…_My Angel._ _I do not need him anymore. _A little guilt, mixed with fear, simmered inside her. She didn't want him dead, but she was no longer a child. She had to think of the rest of her life. Raoul offered a life she could never possibly attain, not even as a opera star. Fame could help elevate her status, certainly, and provide her with a relatively comfortable lifestyle. But a career on the stage would always be looking down upon by her social betters. The position of Vicomptesse was much more attractive. She was fond of Raoul, she knew that. She found him pleasant company, and thought, perhaps, that their relationship could somehow evolve into something more. _Raoul can take care of me, and he loves me. I would escape here and, maybe, be in control of my own life_…That thought was what really appealed to her. Since she had come to the Opera Populaire at seven years old, she had always been told what to do, what to think, how to act. Performers could not afford the luxury of personal time to do what one wanted_. I am no longer a child…I must think of what will be best for my future._ But a childish immaturity still ruled many of her actions, her thoughts. Her childhood had been stolen from her at a desperately young age when her father died, leaving her with nothing. She had been forced to grow up, but was still very much a child at heart and in mind. Though she did not truly want to marry Raoul, she tried to be mature about her life, her future. And the only way to keep that life was to go along with Raoul's plans. She was confused, afraid, and still felt horribly alone.

Christine dropped her head, shame congesting her mind. _He loves me…but frightens me. I…I cannot. I am not strong enough._ Her Angel's genius scared her, and his face scared her even more. She knew that he was aware of her plans to leave with Raoul, even though he had not spoken to her since the incident in the graveyard. _He is a genius, he will not let me leave so easily…but what choice do I have? I have warned Raoul so many times. I have no choice but to go along with his plan. I will perform, and hopefully, everything will turn out alright_…Even through her forced optimism, Christine knew that tonight would be the worst of her life.

o o o o o

I landed with a sickening crunch on crushed glass. My back already shredded by my struggle with Jonathan against my mirror, I winced as more shards stabbed at me, burying themselves in my already open cuts and gashes. I had hit my head while landing against an unforgiving floor, nearly knocking me senseless. Dazed, and knowing that I would need help, I cautiously sat up, looking around me dizzily. The mirror lay on the floor beside me, and looking at it, my vision blurring in and out, I saw myself a million times over in the splinters of reflective glass that were scattered around me. I watched as a thousand me's lifted their hands to their heads along with me. _…My head…God, the mirror. I must have fallen into it, … landed on the ground? Bastard Jonathan, when I can get up, I'll break his face…My mirror, my mirror, it's destroyed! _Turning my garbled focus from the pieces of glass surrounding me, I noticed vaguely that I wasn't seated on wooden floorboards._ What's with the floor? _My brow furrowed as I recognized not the glossy wood of my parent's hall floor, but white and peach swirls of marble. The thought floated ominously around in my head. I reached up to touch my forehead again, searching for cuts or bumps, groaning as I found them.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, êtes-vous tout à fait bien?" I glanced around, still gripping my head. It throbbed, especially in my ears, and I glanced around for the voices, the sounds approaching, trying to make sense of what just happened, what was still happening.

"Wha…?" Several men in suits were running towards me. _Some of the party guests? They've got weird suits, a new fashion trend that I've yet again missed?_ _What's happening, did they see Jonathan? Where is he…?_ The thought that they were guests didn't seem to fit right. I rubbed my eyes, moaning slightly. My head hurt, and nothing was making sense. Two men were older, probably in their mid to late fifties, while I guessed the third was around my age, early to mid twenties. The younger one knelt beside me.

"Nous vous avons vu tomber. Alors le miroir est tombé. Comment vous sentez-vous?" He spoke gently to me, reaching out to touch my head, I crinkled my aching brow at him, trying to understand. _Are they speaking French? God! I don't know French! The last time I spoke it was highschool! And I sucked!_

"Uh…je m'appelle Gwen… Le ciel est bleu?" _My name is Gwen. The sky is blue…brilliant. Well, at least it's something._ The two older men looked at each other with comically puzzled expressions, one even chuckled. The younger man just looked concerned.

"Mademoiselle, vous êtes confus. Vous devez avoir frappé votre tête." "Ugh! I don't know what you're saying! I haven't had French since highschool, I speak English!" Frustrated, and my head pulsing with pain, I snapped at them, glaring at the man that laughed. The young man recoiled with surprise, his face lighting up. "English? I speak English," My eyes filling with tears due to the pain and sheer joy that wherever I was, I wouldn't die alone and misunderstood, I threw my arms around him, laughing a little bit hysterically. "Miss? Miss…?" Unraveling my arms from his neck, he fixed me with a worried stare. "I believe you have hit your head quite hard. Please, come with me, I will take you to a doctor." Gathering me up, he stood, hissing fluid French at the two older men. Only as I stood did I finally look around me, taking in the incredible view. Not only were the floors marble, but the entire building. Marble walls, enormous marble columns that lead up to a domed ceiling. We began to slowly descend a massive marble staircase, surrounded by gilded gold statues, all of nude people hefting candelabras. _Where the hell am I?_ Once at the bottom of the staircase, I felt dizzy and vaguely nauseous. Leaning more heavily on the young man, he paused. Lips slightly pursed, he suddenly swung me up into his arms. Far less gracefully than he had just moved, I flailed. I was unused to gallant men, and especially unused to being carried. I clutched at his shoulders, forgetting my current pain in sudden panic, afraid that I would be dropped on my already smarting ass. He chuckled lightly.

"Do not worry, mademoiselle, I will not drop you." He carried me through a maze of hallways, and somehow we ended up in a small office. He placed me on a couch against the back wall, pulling the curtains closed as I shrank away from the offensively bright sunlight. "A doctor will be here soon. Until then you must stay awake, I believe you have had a head trauma. So please, if I might know your name…?" I blinked at him, my brain getting more and more fuzzy. "I'm Gwen, Gwen Shepherd. Who are you?" My vision was blurry, so I widened my eyes, staring at him intensely, willing my eyes to focus. "I am the Vicompte de Chagny. You may call me Raoul." _Huh?_ It didn't make sense, though sounded vaguely familiar. "What?" "Raoul, you may call me Raoul,""Oh, nice to meet you, Raoul. Where are we? I was at my parents house, how did I get here?" His eyes narrowed as he considered my words. "I am not confident I understand what you mean, Mademoiselle Gwen. We are in the Paris Opera House, if that helps you." _Paris? How did I get to Paris? I think I'm hallucinating. Or perhaps that bonk on the head made me delusional? _"What happened?" I asked, feeling more and more sleepy. "I am not entirely sure, mademoiselle. I saw something…you must have been touching the mirror?""…No…I don't think I touched it…it was Jonathan, that bastard…my dad will fire his fucking ass…the mirror broke? Seven years bad luck…" I smiled vaguely at him, noticing his form had gone dark. My eyes darting around the room, I watched everything fade into the dark.

- - -

Buzzing voices drifted around me. Smooth sounds I didn't understand, light bangs like footsteps swirled around my head. My eyes would open, they would see shapes, forms that blended in with grey. Then darkness would set in again. I didn't know how long I was unconscious, but when I felt myself wake, it felt like a thousand years had passed. I began to rouse fully, consciousness creeping forward. Before braving to open my eyes, I tried to gage my surroundings, the sounds, the smells, the activity around me. Faint music was playing somewhere not too far away, voices cutting into it. I noticed that I was damp, cold compresses had been placed on my head, and bandages tightened around my body. My limbs still ached, my head was worse, and the scratches burned. I opened my eyes to the blurry sight of a young woman bent over me. I closed them again, unsure of what I was seeing.

"Me pardonner, mademoiselle. Vous êtes-vous réveillés?" Hearing French, and my brain still clouded, my brow knitted in confusion.

"What? Please speak English, Raoul." I opened one of my eyes, looking for my savior. There was just the young woman. Though embarrassed at calling her Raoul, she merely perked up at my blunder.

"Raoul?" She suddenly stood, running out of the room. A few seconds later, she returned, dragging Raoul behind her. She whispered something in French to him, he nodded and kneeled beside me.

"Are you well?" His eyes anxious. I took the chance to glance over myself. My arms were bandaged, along with my head, and I could feel one around my shoulders and back as well. But that was not the only change, my green dress had disappeared, I was only dressed in a thin cotton nightgown. Suddenly realizing how overexposed I was in front of Raoul, I curled up, trying to hid what the thin garment didn't.

"What am I wearing! Where are my clothes!" I barked at him, humiliated and self-conscious. He seemed unimpressed by my slight hysterics, looking back at the young woman behind him.

"Forgive us, Mademoiselle, but the doctor needed to remove your clothing to inspect your injuries and treat them." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, flashing me a charming smile at the same time, as if understanding. "Do not worry, Mademoiselle, it was the doctor's nurse that changed your clothes. Do not be concerned. Now, how do you feel?" I felt like hell, but didn't really want him to know that. I was more concerned with figuring out what happened. Last time I checked, Raoul was not at my parent's party.

"Much better than before, thank you. What's going on, have you seen my parents? How long have I been asleep? Did I break anything? What did the doctor say? Where am I, again? I can't still be at their house…" I was talking more to myself now, Raoul's brows furrowed in mild confusion. He turned once again to glance at the young woman, who stood timidly in the background, wringing her hands and staring at me with an expression of mild distaste. Slightly affronted, and wondering if she was the nurse that attended me, I glared at her. "Who is she?" I blurted, suddenly feeling begrudged at the presence of another woman. I eyed her, suspicious and a little jealous. _She is beautiful. I wish I had her hair…_Raoul smiled gently again, taking my current of questions all in stride.

"This is Christine, my fiancé. You have been partially unconscious for most of the day, it is late evening now. The doctor said you would be fine, but you will be bruised and scratched for quite some time. You are in the Paris Opera House, and it is going to get very loud shortly. It is opening night, and many people are coming to the performance." He turned from me then, speaking quickly and quietly to his fiancé. The young woman's expression went from politely concerned to absolutely mortified. Though tears suddenly brimmed in her eyes, she nodded passively and left the room. "She is the star, and is going to get ready for the performance. It should be very…interesting." Something about his tone made me curious.

"How well do you feel? I do not wish to leave you alone here, but I would not want to force you to move if you feel you cannot. My fiancé has fetched you some clothing, so you could be properly attired." I glanced over to where he was gesturing, a beautiful gown of navy blue had been lain daintily on a chair in the corner, waiting. It was finely embroidered with silver thread, the fabric itself shimmered slightly in the yellow light of the room, flaunting satin and silk. _Why would he give me something so nice…Is he asking me to the show_? I hoped so. I'd only seen a little opera before, but adored theater. Especially musicals. Taking my eyes of the gorgeous gown, I focused back on Raoul, answering his question.

"I feel much better now. I want to thank you for helping me, I wish I could explain, but I don't know what happened…" I must have looked extremely distraught, because he suddenly clasped my hand.

"Please, it would comfort me greatly to be with you, to make sure you are alright. Will you join me this evening? I have a private box, it would quiet and calm so you would not have to associate with others if you feel unable," _What the hell, I'm probably hallucinating anyway. Might as well have a good time with it, and I get to wear that beautiful dress! This must be a hallucination, nobody's this nice. I wonder if I'm in the hospital_… Smiling up at him with barely contained glee, I agreed to join him.

He left the room, waiting for me to get dressed. The bandages were too tight and constricting, I unwound them even though my scratches ached as I did so. I fought another wave of dizziness, as I stood, feeling around on my head. A slight bump was there, and a thin cut, but the blood that had dribbled down my face had been washed away, probably by the doctor. I climbed into the gown extremely carefully, to not damage the dress, nor cause any more pangs of vertigo through my head. The scratches were hardly noticeable compared to my pounding head, I hardly felt them and as I cautiously made my way to a small mirror hanging in the room, they were forgotten all together. I swireled around in the dress, laughing slightly as my head swirled as well at my own stupidity. _It doesn't matter, this dress is amazing, I'm in "France", and_ _I'm going to an opera with my knight in shining armor! Hallucination or not, this is going to be the best night of my life!_


	5. Not What Was Written

What Doesn't Kill You

5

"Not What was Written"

Christine's heart was racing as she stepped into the skirts of her costume. She had been hiding in the small chapel, praying to God and her father to protect her. Hoping earnestly that for once, her father and the real Angel of Music would hear her instead of the predator in the walls. Panic had clouded her senses, and hearing a step behind her, she had nearly fled in terror. Raoul, not the Phantom, had been behind her. She buried her face into his chest, openly sobbing into the collar of his suit shirt. "Raoul, do not make me do this. He'll take me. He'll never let me go…I am afraid." Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears, he tried to sooth her, but still insisted she go on. "Christine. Christine, do not think that I don't care, but all our thoughts and all our prayers rest on you now…" He left her there, and tears still straining down her cheeks, she hurried to follow him, unwilling to be left alone. Guilt and fear burning inside her, she knew that while her admirer would never hurt her, she feared his reprisal at her betrayal. He had been known to kill others_. If he kills Raoul, I will never get out of here! I will never escape!_

Raoul had led her into one of the small offices in the Opera Populaire, probably the office of one of the better musicians. Christine had been more than startled to find a sleeping young woman sprawled along the couch, and even more so when Raoul gently laid his hand across her forehead. Sudden jealously and possessiveness had risen out of her previously uncontrollable anxiety as she watched her provider lightly stroke the hair of the young woman. _What does he think he is doing!_

"Raoul, darling, who is this?" Although she tried to keep her voice sweet, it had an undeniable icy edge. The Vicompte did not turn to look at her, just kneeled beside the couch on which the young lady slept. Fear of a different kind had stricken her as she watched him stare intently into the face of another woman. _Could he fall in love with someone else? What would happen to me! It cannot be! _Christine had analyzed her, comparing the foreigner's appearance with her own. Red spiraling curls were cut oddly short, probably reaching only an inch or two down her neck. With her head and neck tucked the way they were, locks of hair kissed her shoulders, creeping around clips that must have at one time held them in place. It framed an all together too pleasant face with an attractive wide jaw and relatively high cheekbones. Angular brows rested over closed eyes with long darkened lashes. A few freckles danced over pale skin on the bridge of her nose, pink lips curved into a contented smile. The only thing that really distracted from her beauty was the bandage that tightened around her forehead. Raoul squatting with his back to his fiancé, never seeing the ugly grimace she made.

"This young woman I believe was lost. Something happened with one of the decorative mirrors on the second level and she was hurt. I brought her here to recover and for the doctor to see her, but I believe she is still unconscious…" He had placed his hand back on her forehead, causing Christine's scowl to deepen. _Let her stay unconscious then_. "Christine, there is much business I have to attend to. You will stay with her until I return." It had not been a request, but a command. _He is too used to commanding. And I am too used to obeying. _Though her thoughts had been rebellious, she did as she was told.

Now, the beginning of the opera "Don Juan Triumphant" was only minutes away and Christine felt like she would burst from the fear. A costumer began to roughly lace her corset, and Christine felt nauseous as she was jerked around. A thunderous sound lurked into the dressing room; applause. "Don Juan" had begun.

o o o o o

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy…No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!" The pretty soprano, Raoul's fiancé, launched into the music, her angelic voice echoing throughout the theater. Though I couldn't understand the words, I was able to follow along in the program, which was thick and heavy with translations into multiple languages. I had asked Raoul why they did this, he had shrugged as if he didn't care, but I saw his expression darken, saying the composer wanted the words to be known by all. Apparently the upper crust from many different countries had traveled to see the brilliance of "Don Juan Triumphant"Setting the program onto my lap, on top of my folded, but still ruined green dress, I wondered about the music_. I've heard this before…Have I seen this opera?_ _Maybe I heard it somewhere? Mom likes opera, maybe I heard it in the car or something? _My focus drifted as I tried to place the music. I certainly hadn't heard it recently. The opera had been very interesting, though I thought parts of it were vaguely familiar. I was enjoying it, though I had heard Raoul gasp more than once at the scenes with sexual innuendo. At least twice I had to hold in a chuckle, incredibly amused that he would be startled by something as insignificant as suggestive lyrics. Wasn't he aware of the lyrics of today's artists? In hip hop, rap, even pop, the lyrics were not only suggestive, but vividly described everything relating to sex. _Where have these people been? Is France stuck under an enormous rock?_

Grinning, my eyes swept the stage. Don Juan had just described his plan to entrap the young, innocent Christine to his manservant, and Raoul's fiancé had then entered as he "hid" backstage. _She's beautiful, no wonder Don Juan wants her. Any man would. Didn't strike me as too bright though_… _The man playing Don Juan is too fat_…Yet again the thought had surfaced unwillingly as Christine's voice cut the air. Although I had felt guilty for being cruel every single time the thought ran through my head, I found it hard to believe that a man known to irresistible to women would be so portly. _I wouldn't find him attractive. Even if he was a noble_…A voice, though, soft as silk, penetrated the accompaniment. So clear, smooth, and pure that it could have been divine, I shivered with absolute wonder as a new character crept onto the stage. Having been involved with choir and music most of my life, I knew a good voice when I heard one. _Beautiful cannot describe it…its transcendental_. Nothing I had ever heard before could compare with the glory of the man's voice. My mind seemed to melt Though it had been interesting before, his rapturous voice now made it impossible to look away. As I absorbed the words thick with sexual innuendo, confusion trickled through the wondrous sound. _Wait, who is that? Is that Don Juan? That isn't the same guys as before… Could something have happened to him in the like three minutes he was off stage, so they got the understudy? They should have just skipped to him in the first place! _The new Don Juan crept towards Christine, his every movement swaying to the sexual tension that strung between them. _He's so graceful. Like a dancer. Why the hell did they cast that other guy first?_ Christine's character, or maybe even Christine herself, was entirely enthralled in this Don Juan. I was too, and glancing around the theater, so were all the other women. _Now _this_ is a believable Don Juan_. He began to move away, and she took the melody, now singing back to him her willingness to give herself to him. They each climbed a spiraling staircase up to a bridge that spanned across the stage. Raoul shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. I glanced over at him, his face was contorting, tears of rage in his eyes. Don Juan and Christine strode towards each other, the music growing more and more intense, the audience at the edge of their seats. Raoul exploded from his seat as they gripped each other's arms, his knuckles whitening as he clutched the railing of the box. The music reached soaring notes, its volume deafening as Don Juan crushed Christine against him. And just as musical seemed to reach its climax, the accompaniment cut out. The silence hung in the theater like a thick fog, and I felt like until the music started again, until something happened, I wouldn't be able to breathe. I wasn't the only one. No one moved, everyone was still as stone, holding their breath to not miss anything on stage. After what seemed like an eternity bottled in a few seconds, Don Juan opened his mouth again, the sound emitted from his lips more tender than the touch of Aphrodite, more divine than Heaven itself.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude! Say you'll want me with you here beside you…" Tearing my eyes from the scene, I glanced at the lyrics. The words washed over me as he continued to sing to her, my soul saturated with the raw emotion he radiated. When I looked up again, instantly captivated, I watched her face as he reached up to caress her cheek. She seemed unable to control herself, head back, her eyes half closed in bliss. I was so focused on what was happening on stage, I barely heard Raoul's enraged screams. Christine, though, seemed to awaken from her ensorcelled state, turning in Don Juan's arms to face him. I could no longer sit and watch, I leapt to the rail of the box, ignoring Raoul's shrieks. Don Juan seemed to be pouring his heart, his soul, out for her, to Christine's character, in a brilliant display of acting.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too," It was all in character when—"Christine!" _What!? That's not what was written_! "That's all I ask of—" His voice had risen new heights, new depths of power that reverberated throughout the theater, seeming to shake the floor. But before he could even finish the last line, she reached up and ripped the mask off his face. He released her, she faltered backwards, all the music ceasing. The audience, stunned by the break of the spell created by his voice, all seemed to gasp in unison. People in the front screamed, horrified, and I strained to see what frightened them, wondering if this was part of the show. Raoul's voice suddenly rang through the air, he flailed, gesticulating to people below. I tore my gaze away from the revealed Don Juan, my eyes darting around the room as I searched for who Raoul was shouting to. _Policemen! What's happening?_ They rushed towards the stage, and Don Juan glanced around the theater. Lurching forward, he grabbed at Christine, hooking her with one arm, the other violently slicing one of the many ropes that hung from above. The bridge that supported them suddenly gave way, and the two leads plummeted downwards. I heard my voice scream out to them, warning them, but they passed through the floor of the stage, evaporating from the chaos that gripped the theater. Frantic noise erupted from the audience below, terrified viewers panicking to get out of the theater. It only took me a few seconds to realize why. My gaze shooting upwards, horror overcame me as I watched the giant chandelier swing downwards above the frenzied crowd, heading straight for the stage. I whirled around in time so see Raoul darting out of the box. I launched myself after him, my green dress and program dropping off of my lap, trying to keep up as he flew down the stairs_. Is he running?! _But he threw himself into the fleeing crowd, people shoving around the body fighting the tide as he pushed his way into the theater. I was able to follow in his wake, the torrent of bodies blinding me from what was ahead. The bodies rammed into me, catching the enormous, bustled gown I was wearing, tearing it. I tried to lift it up as I fought the crowd, frantically hunting for Raoul. Someone knocked into me, I was nearly dragged under the mob, but somehow managed to stay upright and whole. My dress wasn't as lucky, I felt my skirts being ripped away, shredded completely.

Flashes of light and heat attracted drew my attention, and the real source of the panic dawned on me. The chandelier had crashed onto the stage, its lights setting the polished wood ablaze. I had stopped to take in the horror before me, but was jostled and shoved by rushing people into the seats. Trying to right myself, my head whipped around in search of Raoul. Finally I spotted him, he was being dragged by an older woman to the stage. I shouted out to him, pleading with him to stop, to wait. But he allowed himself to be dragged through the pit to the far side of the stage, closer and closer to the flames. The old woman let go of him, slamming her body into the side of the stage, and I watched aghast as a door opened. They ducked into it, disappearing. The only person I knew in this nightmare gone, I tried to fight the fear that was threatening to overcome me. Pushing myself out of the seats, I fled the opera house.


	6. Why Could She Not See Me?

What Doesn't Kill You

6

"Why Could She Not See Me?"

I followed the crowd, and while many climbed into coaches to flee, the majority ran on foot. Feeling searing heat and seeing strange shadows thrown across the cobblestoned streets, I turned to watch fire burst from the windows, blasting the glass into the street. My thoughts crazed, I could only think of getting away. I don't know how long I ran, my lungs bursting but fear still fueling my legs. Drained emotionally, physically, and mentally, I was willing though, to accept it when the crowd stopped, encircling a small building. Men in uniforms poured out, trying to sooth the bedlam that surrounded them. _The police station? _After nearly a half hour, the crowd began moving again, the police pushing the distraught aristocrats into coaches. When I was shoved into a coach along with a few others, I didn't protest at all. The coach ride was short, stopping in front of what looked like a grand Parisian hotel. My group, and several other groups from other carriages were led into the hotel and immediately sorted into rooms. Not caring if I had to sleep on the street so long as this evening ended, I followed the concierge complacently. I didn't even notice who shared the room with me, I dropped into an empty bed, closed my eyes, and tried to prevent my exhausted brain from recollecting images of the worst night of my life. _Is it still the 19__th_ I might have laughed at the irony of it all had I not fallen dead asleep.

I slipped out of the room before my roommate woke, passing by a mirror. I paused, stunned at my appearance. In a single day I had gone looking like a princess to a compost heap. Repulsed, I glanced around the empty hall. A trolley covered in suitcases squatted undefended. Glancing around to make sure no one was coming, I dug into them, hoping to find something more suitable. Seeing my dress in the mirror, I knew I needed something else, I looked like I had just ran through No Man's Land in a war. The beautiful layers of fabric had been torn away from me, now hanging in pieces, and much of it was now spotted with dirt and mud from the flood into the streets.

Uncovering a grey rather plain dress, shoes, and a navy blue coat, I pulled them and some shoes out of the suitcase and smuggled them back into my room. My roommate was still asleep, curled into a ball of no discernable gender. I ducked into the washroom, changing my clothes and scrubbing my face in the wash basin. I rinsed my hair, hoping that it would substitute for a thorough wash. I ran my hands through it, luckily it was short enough to not need a comb. Gathering up pieces that always fell into my eyes, I secured them with the clips that had somehow survived the previous night's anarchy. While the dress was confining and tight in strange places, the shoes were the most uncomfortable. If I still had both my strappy black heels I would have just worn them, hoping the long grey gown would cover them. But, I had lost one in my panicked flight from the opera house. Appraising my new look in the mirror, I devoutly wished I still had my mascara. _It's in my purse, but where's that? Still in the opera house! Probably in that damn office! My phone, keys, ID, everything was in there! I have to get it back!_ Setting my jaw, I realized I would have to return to the opera house. _If it still exists, that is_…

On my way out of the hotel I discovered a buffet for the new arrivals, the victims of the opera house disaster. I didn't know if we had to pay for it or not, so I just smuggled some pastries into my enormous skirts. Though I felt a twinge of guilt assault me, my senses told me to accept the fact that I had no money and hadn't had anything to eat since I "arrived". Though this world might have been created by my perhaps damaged brain, the hole in my stomach felt very real. _Besides, I stole these clothes…Might as well…_I avoided the police officers along with the guests that clogged the lobby, briskly pushing through the front doors into the morning sun. Massive puddles made ponds in the cobblestoned streets, I vaguely remembered running through some during my flight from the opera house. Glancing around the foreign street, I tried to also remember the path we had taken to get there, to retrace my path back to the opera house. Chewing thoughtfully on a croissant, I strolled around several blocks before giving up. _This stupid place is an absolute maze_. Spotting a man on the street, I hurried over to him.

"Pardon monsieur…Um, the opera house? Where?" I tried to gesticulate my question, hoping that I wasn't giving him some sort of French equivalent of the finger. He smiled kindly.

"Opera Populaire? Oui. Gauche autour de deux blocs. De cette façon." He gesticulated back at me, and with my understanding of the words "yes", "left", "two" and "blocks", relief flooded over me. Smiling broadly, I thanked him in French, and mentally thanked my highschool French teacher for drilling at least _some_ of the language into me, even though I had hated her at the time. The opera house was exactly as he said, still standing. Although glass still coated the streets around it, from the outside, the damage didn't look so bad. Wondering if I was allowed to enter, I shrugged to myself. I had to get my purse back, hopefully if caught, I could at least explain.

To my surprise, though, the lobby was filled with people. Most of them dressed in dull, casual attire, the majority formed a line in front of a man sitting behind a table. _Taking complaints? Trying to help people find their lost belongings?_ Optimistic, I got in line. When it was my turn, I approached fully prepared to explain my predicament.

"Nom?" He cut me off. _Name_. I frowned, but supplied it.

"Gwen Shepherd. Monsieur---"

"Gwen Shepherd. Vous commencez le travail maintenant. Prendre un sac et commencer à nettoyer ce désordre." He handed me a slip of paper with a number on it. _What_?

"I'm sorry, excuse me, but I don't know what you're saying or what's happening. English? Do you speak English?" The man stared at me, puzzled, but an exasperated sigh behind me made me turn. A shabby man, obviously impatient for his turn, glared at me.

"You just signed up to work here, to help clean up the debris. He said to take a bag and get to work. That paper is your room number here, they give us a place to live while we work. Now can you move? There are others of us who need to work to eat, Mam'selle." I thanked him, blushing with embarrassment, and moved out of line. _Work here? I guess that would take care of my needing a place to stay, I can't expect the police to put me up in a hotel, especially since I don't look like a rich aristocrat and can't even speak French. At least I can get my purse now…_I strode over to the pile of burlap sacks and grabbed one, feeling almost confident in my future_. If I can make a little money_…I had no idea how long my brain would keep this delusion running, but it felt real enough, so I decided it was best to live it as if it was. _Maybe it's like one of those dream-quest things in which I have to find out a deeper meaning or purpose in life! Hm…I think I've been watching too many movies…_

As I strode into the theater, my breath was nearly knocked out of me with shock. The beautiful, elegant theater looked so very different from the earlier hours of yesterday evening, that I if I hadn't seen the disaster myself, I would have believed them two different places. The chandelier had been removed, but the great hole it had created was an offensive blemish on the grace of the stage. To add insult to injury, the fire had charred a large portion of it black, the boards of the remaining were twisted and warped, covered in ash. The ash covered everything, actually. Debris were also littered around the theater, the seats burnt and damaged. The curtains also must have caught fire, most of them had been burned away. Shuddering as I remembered last night's horrors, I joined the small flock of people already sweeping up wreckage and ash.

o o o o o

The pain was more than unbearable as he curled into himself, squeezing his legs into his chest. His skin burned from the tears that had been sliding across it for the past three days. Three days since she had left. Every second dragging, time had slowed very nearly to a stop. He hadn't moved since she had left, only withdrew into his wrenching pain, silent tears splitting through the emotional walls he had spent years hiding behind. Walls that had created a man that could not feel. When she had come to the opera though, the foundations of those walls had begun to crumble. Where love had formed and filled the cracks, bitterness and utter despair remained. Moaning, the former proud predator of the Opera Populaire, the Angel and Ghost himself, rolled onto his back out of the fetal position. He writhed slightly, his agony had moved beyond purely emotional pain, it had become deeply physical. _Everything hurts so badly…_His past had made him shun the human world, living with the only friend he had known as a child, darkness. Darkness had sheltered him, protected him throughout his entire life. In darkness he would have remained, but he had allowed himself to be lured away from his lifelong friend by a single ray of light. Christine. His angel, his goddess, his love. She had been everything he had hid from his entire life, beautiful in every way. Or so he had thought. Although he had made himself out to be a creature of the dark, with Christine, he had began to hope. He had thought that maybe with her love, he would no longer need the dark. She would fill his life with so much light and joy that he would never have to know it again. But she had betrayed him the moment he was no longer useful to her. The moment a better offer had come along. Her light was taken from him, his hope for acceptance and maybe even love, snuffed out with careless disregard. And the infamous Phantom of the Opera was once again a lowly twisted creature of the darkness, falling further into it than he had ever been before.

For three days, he battled with the hope that she would come back to him. He had tried to force himself to accept her betrayal, but his heart clung to the infuriating hope that she would suddenly reappear, accepting, loving, taking him into her arms. She had not come back. He knew she wouldn't. _She did not love me. She never did. She just wanted what I could make her, what I could give her_…Though the thoughts tore at his mind, heart and soul, he made himself think them. It was easier to hate, especially for him. For his entire life he had taken in society's rejection and abuse, he believed every word of it. _A monster. A devil_. _Abhorred and hated wherever I went__**. WHY could she not SEE ME**_ The question had hung in his mind since the moment she had turned her back on him. _**Why**_ _was she like every one else, hating me because of the way I look? _Even his own mother had feared him, hated him, was ashamed of him. When he was six years old, he had been abandoned by her only to be caught by a traveled circus of gypsies. He was caged, shown off as a freak of nature, displayed for the entertainment, mockery, and hate of the rest of the world. He had been beaten, starved, tortured. The physical abuse he survived without a word of protest. But the emotional trauma had created in him what the world had already decided he was. _A monster_..._I am a monster. She could never love me._

Lying on the flat of his back, his mind once again replayed the scene in which she had destroyed him. As he confessed his love for her, in front of the best of Europe, she had betrayed him. Ripped off his mask and exposed him to the world that reacted as they always had. They had screamed in horror, ran. Terror, humiliation, frustration, shame, and mostly an uncontrollable rage had seized him, and as he watched them, fleeing as if his deformity were a horrible infectious disease, he was gripped by an insatiable need for revenge. Revenge on a world that had hated him so much for just being different. _Ugly_. He slashed a support rope for the chandelier, and with only two others remaining to support its weight, it swung down, straight for the stage. Originally, it had been set up as a distraction, so he and Christine could make their escape in the confusion that it would undoubtedly cause. _But it started a fire…_that had not been his intention. He hadn't originally meant for anyone to get hurt, but as he saw them staring up at him, eyes wide with shock, judging, _hating_, he wanted to hurt them. Kill them. Have his revenge. _Let them die in their fear of me. Let them kill each other as they flee…Christine and I will be happy, alone, together_.

Gripping Christine to him, they had plummeted down through one of his many trap doors to his underground home. There, he intended to tell her everything, his entire life. How the world had made him become what he really was, not an Angel but a Phantom. And how she had changed him, how she had made him, and would continue to make him, more like the angel she had envisioned him to be. He would change for her, he had changed for her. He had loathed everyone, cared for nothing. But her very presence had made him a new man…or so he had thought. _"It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…"_ He had ignored the words, refusing to even hear them, to comprehend their meaning. All he cared about was having her, possessing her, hiding her away from the rest of the world so only he could cherish her. It was not to be. _Then _he_ came. He tried to take her from me with promises of riches and fame. I had to fight for her, I could not let her leave me alone again_…But she had. He had tried to force her to stay with him, threatened her with the death of her lover. Then she had kissed him, just to save the boy. He had known then, that despite how much he wanted to crush the young nobleman, he could never hurt Christine. And killing her young lover would have hurt her. His thoughts drifted back the kiss unbidden, bitterly. _My first and last kiss…How could I have hurt him then? I loved her so much, even if she was just using the boy, even if she didn't love him, I could not cause her any more pain_…The Phantom, who at one time would have killed the boy and watched him die with glee, had lost, unable to cause the one he loved pain. And then they had taken his boat and sailed away from him, leaving him a broken shell of what he once was. _Leaving me to die._ The mobs of enraged operafolk had never found him, getting lost in the maze of tunnels that he navigated through everyday. He suddenly sat up, his muscles sapped of strength from days of neglect. _Leaving me to die! I was weak, she made me weak!_ He wiped enraged, bitter tears from his face roughly, ignoring the pain that laced through his deformed skin. _I will not be weak again._


	7. A Ridiculous Dream

What Doesn't Kill You…

7

"A Ridiculous Dream"

I hummed quietly to myself as I swaggered through the beehive of hallways of the Opera Populaire, proud that I was getting to finally know my way around. I had a sack full of rubble slung over my shoulder, my hands cracked, dirty, and bleeding. My back ached, my face was smudged with so much dirt my skin tone had darkened, my feet were blistered from those terrible shoes, and my hair was gritty and smelled like ash. But I was surprisingly content. Two days had passed since I received my job at the opera house. I had managed to make friends with the few people that spoke English, a no-skills-required job had attracted many the immigrant trying to scratch out a living for themselves in Paris. We were drawn to each other, feelings of camaraderie sprouting from speaking the same language.

Kathryn Bishop, an off-the-boat from England, and I had become fairly close, our personalities immediately clicking. She was cleaning somewhere around the stage, I was meeting her so we could get lunch together. The pay was hardly decent, enough to get by only because the opera house was providing a place to live and two meals a day. The clean up crew wasn't extensive; apparently the managers were trying to be as thrifty as possible since their patron—Raoul—had threatened to back out. Or so I had heard. That had the rest of us working around the clock in extensive shifts. Despite being completely dead-to-the-world exhausted every night, I had never felt better. In this dream world, I contributed it to not having to worry about essays, tests, labs, or any other stressful activity grad school had in store. _Manual labor really isn't all that bad…maybe when I wake up, I'll remember this and become a sandwich maker or something…_

Actually, I now was rather unsure about my existence here. I had figured out by now that I wasn't anywhere near home, not even in the same time period. The fashion, the language, even by the English speakers, was just too wrong. I continued to reassure myself that I was unconscious in the hospital and would soon wake, but even that was wavering. It was a good thing I fell asleep so solidly, otherwise, my worries would never let me rest. During the days I would simply push the thoughts away, distracted by my work.

My throaty hum raised an octave, alone in the halls I had no reservations_Being in this place…_I couldn't help myself. Although the stage still had a massive hole in it, I quietly emerged from the wings, and standing in the middle of the stage, I inhaled deeply, breathing in the beauty and sheer wonder that was the theater. A nervous excitement overtook me, building its way up into my chest, filling my lungs. Elated, and grinning foolishly to myself, I blasted out the first few verses of one of my favorite songs from my voice lessons in college, a Henry Purcell piece. I had been active, well more than that, in music in high school and college, at one time even believing that I would major in it and become famous. _A dream, a ridiculous dream…completely unrealistic. _So instead, I majored in science. I liked it a lot, and it ensured that I would have a future. I shook my head, I hadn't sang in so long, I was incredibly rusty. _That was ugly…I wish I still had an iota of what I had before_.

There was a time I was strong, my powerful soprano once reaching notes that most others couldn't. It was years ago, my range had deteriorated, and my technique forgotten, my voice no longer able to stretch the way it could. It had depressed me when I first realized two years after I had stopped singing, and even now, a little sorrow pinched in my gut. _Those days are over, it makes no difference. I just wish people knew how good I was, that I had some way to show them to redeem myself…_

Sighing, I retreated back behind the wings to clean until I was due to meet Kathryn. Moving through the labyrinth of rooms and corridors, I pushed my way into one I had never seen before and gasped in sheer delight. _This must be the costume room! Look at all the beautiful clothing!_

I shuffled over to one of the racks of clothing, dropping my sack of rubble with a clatter. I sifted through the flashy, glittery, silky garments, pausing to admire the occasional dress or suit. The fabrics were of the finest material, embroidered with glass beads and crystals, gold and silver wire. Every stitch was hand-made, each garment fitted perfectly for the wearer. Still humming to myself despite the harshness of my voice, I went through three more racks and decided that it would take too much time to look at all of them. There were costumes for every cast member, every singer, and every dancer, for every show. I wondered how long they kept the costumes after every show. _Thank god the fire didn't reach the costumes, all this beauty completely destroyed…_ Continuing to shuffle through them, I let out an exclamation at the piece of clothing I had come across._ My green dress! I thought I had lost it forever! Some one must have found it and thrown it in here! Holding _it aloft, my excitement drained away._ I guess it doesn't matter, it's ruined anyway. _Some of the fabric had been ripped, some was also dribbled with blood. Seeing the blood, my expression turned grim, remembering Jonathan. _Bastard. Wherever or whenever I am, I hope he's in prison. _I ran my thumb over a blood stain, flipping the dress over my arm, thoughts still heavy on Jonathan. I tried to push the angry thoughts away, concentrating on what was in front of me. Continuing my browsing,I paused at a rack of rather drab clothing. It was shoved against the back wall, half of it covered with a sheet. _These don't look like costumes…what are they doing here?_

Flipping the sheet off the rack, I sorted through them. They looked like someone's regular forgotten clothes. Dresses, skirts, riding habits and bodices made of wools, cottons and muslin in grey, brown, white, black, and blue. Even nightgowns, stockings, and corsets hung over the rack. Grabbing a dress from its hanger, I held it against my body. _Seems long enough…and I am severely lacking acceptable clothing here. If they're just going to sit in here and get dusty…_Stripping the clothing from their hangers, I made a large pile over my shoulder. Moving along the rack, pulling every garment free, I stopped as I came across the last one. Instead of being made of common, plain fabrics, it was made of the highest quality silk I had ever seen. Intricate lace hung in layers on the off-the-shoulder sleeves, around the bodice, and in long waves around the skirt. It lacked all the glitz and glamour of the other gowns, and looked slightly antiqued, as if it had not been made for the stage at all_. I wonder whose clothes these were? They couldn't have been for a show…_ Drawn to the elegant, graceful beauty of the gown, I stacked it on top of the other, plainer clothing.

"Gwen?" a familiar accented voice called to me, echoing through the hall outside.

"In here, Kathryn! In the costume room!" I shouted back to her.

She swung into the room, heavy skirts bustling around her, kicking up dust. She paused, arms folded across her chest, smirking ironically."What y' be doin' in 'ere? Tryin' on the costumes?"

Grinning sheepishly at her over my shoulder, I batted my eyes innocently. Shoving some of the older dresses into her arms, while tucking the rest under one of mine, we hefted them to the entrance in front of a large mounted mirror. My back to the mirror, I dropped my load to hold up the beautiful costume gown.

"Only this one…" I brandished the dress to her. "I only wanted to try it on. Those others I just wanted to borrow until I get a wardrobe of my own. Everyone else has more than one set of clothes, and I'd rather not have to wash my dress every single night." Struggling to undo the buttons that ran up my back, I wiggled around, attempting to reach them all.

"I suppose if they be just sittin' around 'ere in this dusty old room, it does no 'arm. Y' want some 'elp with those buttons?"

I nodded gratefully, able to reach a good portion of them, but flailing at the rest. It usually took me about fifteen minutes in the morning just to get the dress on, and I was extremely pleased to find some clothing that didn't have buttons all up the back. Kathryn undid the rest of the buttons, and I slipped the dress from my shoulders. Although I knew she didn't care, I was happy I had kept my slip that I had worn with my green party dress, appreciating my foresight. I delicately undid the hook and eyes on the costume, sliding the dress up over my hips. Hooking all the hook and eyes again, I adjusted the dress, making sure it fit. It was tight around the waist and chest, but if I sucked in, it fit, if not comfortably. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I was perfectly willing to sacrifice comfort.

"It's…incredible. It's the most gorgeous dress I've ever seen, let alone tried on!" I twisted, admiring my reflection from different angles.

Kathryn gave a low whistle, smiling appreciatively. "Aye. My God, Gwen, you look like you were born t' wear that dress."

I flashed her a brilliant, excited smile, adjusting my chest in the dress. "I love it! I just wish the chest were a little bigger. Whoever this dress was made to fit must have been pretty thin. I guess I'd better get out of this thing now, before someone sees me." She nodded, reaching out to help. I pulled off the dress reluctantly, wishing that I could wear it all the time. About to hang it back up on the rack, Kathryn stopped me. I turned to her, quizzically.

"It's just too perfect on ya, Gwen. Who would notice if y' borrowed this one too?" she smiled devilishly as she took the dress from me, hanging it over her arm. Chuckling with evil agreement, I picked up the rest of the clothing, Kathryn grabbing my sack of rubble. Slipping into the hall, we thought that the clothes would be our little secret.

o o o o o

Hours after his last period of cognizance, the former Phantom's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned as the pain of being conscious struck him. His body racked with pain the emotional apocalypse had over the past three days had settled into his body, pain becoming physical as well. He hadn't eaten, barely even moved from his crumpled position on the stone floor in his room. Hoping he would just die, he had ignored food, drink, any sort of physical relief except sleep. He had passed in and out of a coma-like slumber until only the pain suggested whether he was awake, or asleep, alive or dead. Finally unable to refuse his body's demands for sustenance, he pulled himself to his writing desk, using the chair for support as he attempted to stand. Legs wobbling, he willed them to work, leaning heavily on the chair. Standing, his reddened eyes scanned the room. Everywhere he looked, everything reminded him of her. _This whole damn place! She was never in my room, but always in my thoughts…_

His eyes darted to the writing desk in front of him. Sheets upon sheets of half-finished arias all written for Christine, sketches of her beautiful bright face covered it in muddled piles. Sudden rage overcoming the weakness of his drained limbs, he sliced his arm across the desktop with a snarl, the papers taking flight like a flock of birds. The papers scattered across the floor, he became aware of other offending objects—the desk itself, his chair, his bed, his dressers, everything. Snarls growing into howls of blinding fury, he unleashed his pain onto his furniture, shoving his protesting legs through the desk, splintering his chair, his arms and once-graceful, elegant hands ripping through his mattress. Seizing a corner of his dresser, he flipped it. All the furniture in his room destroyed, he moved into the main chamber of his underground home, snapping, smashing, crushing anything in his path. Sheets of his masterpieces were shredded in cruel, insane hands, candelabras thrown across the cavern, smashing into various objects. He came across the first of his many mirrors, their purpose not only to illuminate the cavern by reflecting the candle light, but also to remind him of his despicable appearance so he would not try to join the upper world. Christine was the only reason he had ever considered trying to assimilate with the outside world. Before her, he never had the confidence. Examples of society's reactions to his distorted face always lingered in the back of his mind, but Christine's "understanding" and "love" made him think that he could, one day, be accepted. To her, he had believed, he had not been "the Phantom," "the Opera Ghost," "a monster," "a devil," but a man; a man who wanted love and acceptance like any other. He had simply been…Erik. But she, like all others, did not see him as a man, at least not a man she could ever care for. Memories exploded through his mind as he stared at his bare face. Unable to withstand the raging flood of memories, he staggered backward, gripping his face. A hollow scream burst from his lips as he tore at his face with his nails, ripping at the tender exposed flesh, rending it from bone. Blood ran freely, drenching his hands. He gazed upon himself, the raw open gashes left from his nails only making him look more revolting, more inhuman. Lurching towards the mirror, he drove his fist through it, the glass slashing his hands, wrists, and forearms. The pain was blinding, disorienting. Lost in his pain and anger, he grabbed a candelabra, and shattered every other mirror within reach before losing full consciousness.

Unaware of how many hours had passed, the broken man awoke. Dried and cracking blood stained everything around him, clothing, skin, and the carpet of music beneath him. Lightheaded, he crawled towards the lake of dark water, hissing as he let his body fall into it. _I could just go under, drown, it would be easy…no one would care, no one would even know. No one would mourn the loss of The Phantom…but I am no longer him. Who am I? What am I now? I am not Erik, I am not even the Opera Ghost. What would he do? Kill everyone, everything_…The shudder that consumed him was not due to the frigid temperature of the water as he floated on his back. _I could not do that._ His mind explored possible reasons. _Christine. She made me this way_. Another anger grabbed at him. Before Christine, he hadn't cared about anything or anyone. _Only my music…_ Human life had held no value, they were just like insects scurrying around in their useless attempts to survive comfortably. She had opened the locked doors the he had kept his emotion behind all his life. Despite despising everyone, everything, even himself, he could no longer just extinguish life. _It was easier that way, before her._ The Phantom was a product of his previous thinking, of the abuse and hate that had shaped him. The Phantom had strangled Piangi in cold blood, the man's life force drained out from under his fingers, and he had never been struck with any regret. Now the thought sickened him, and in the water already filled with his blood, he spilled whatever contents his starved stomach held_. I should not be alive. The crimes I have committed, the pains I have endured…and caused._ He stood up in the water, his thoughts becoming increasingly morbid as he told himself that death was the only way to escape. He tried to convince himself it would be easy, simple. And yet…something in his soul resisted, afraid, unwilling to give up—_my pathetic existence. Hardly a life at all. It hurts too badly, I could be free…_Marching into the deeper water, one of the places where he couldn't steer his gondola as the water was too deep, he was only a few steps from being completely under. Sucking in his breath, he forced his feet to move onwards, into the pitiless arms of the freezing depths.

"Sweeeeet, sweeeter than rooooses…" A heavy soprano cut through the tension-thickened air, echoes ringing throughout the cavern… "Or coooool, cooooool evening breeeeze…."

_Christine!_ The notes weren't particularly lofty and had the husky edge of a range that had not been used for quite a while. The voice sounded nothing like her, the tone and timbre were completely different. But hope surmounted his senses, he was deaf to the real sound of the voice. Surging out of the water, he leapt into the shallow boat used for crossing the underground lake, forcing it to glide as quickly as possible. _Christine! Christine! She has come back to me!_

"Sweeeet, sweeeter than roses, or coooool, cooool eve, evening breeeze…on a waarrm, waaarm flowery shore…"

The voice taunted him as it splashed through the cavern. The song was completely foreign to him. The voice even more so. His clouded mind could not comprehend it, though, and he pumped his protesting legs along the passage leading to the stage. _She will be there, she will be on the stage! She is glorious!_ He climbed up through a trapdoor, not even bothering to look if anyone was around to see him. He nearly burst from the wings to present himself to the singer when he realized that it was not Christine. Shock slammed into him, his feet froze so abruptly that he rocked forward. _It is not Christine!_ Backing away into the darkness of the wings, he tried to calm himself. Pure exhilaration at "Christine's" arrival had caused him to shake violently, now a crushing disappointment caused his trembling. Suddenly aware that he was still far too overexposed in the wings, easily visible if the woman on stage bothered to look behind her, his clothing drenched and encrusted with dried blood, his bare face shredded and still bleeding, he panicked. Glancing upwards, he seized a nearby rope and pulled himself up into the catwalks and pulleys holding the curtains, tucking himself away in the flies. Once completely enshrouded, he turned his full attention on the mystery singer, trying to keep himself from longing for Christine.

She continued to belt out her rusty tune, oblivious to his presence. He winced as she pushed through a difficult line, her withered technique not able to support her through a run. Clouded green eyes narrowed with contempt; it was extremely obvious to him now that she was not anything like Christine. Her tone was darker, _richer_, than Christine's airy, bright, effortless soprano. _It is not beautiful, but it once must have been…She has more potential than Christine did when she started…Christine_…His eyes watered as memories once again began to surface. He withdrew into himself, his sorrowful mind grabbed at thoughts of his love, he truly wanted nothing more than to slink back into his caverns and hide from the world, with only himself and his memories of Christine. _No! I will not resort to a blubbering mass again! I will not hide_! Angrily shoving his thoughts aside, his pride not allowing him to return to sobbing like a helpless child, the former Angel of Music analyzed the newcomer. Her physical appearance was just as different to Christine's as her voice was. For starters, her build was not the tall, slender, willowy frame that Christine had graced, but a harder, lean, muscular one with larger hips and bust. While Christine's build was just as wispy and graceful as her voice, this girl was all muscle and angles, seeming sharp and tough. She stood with her shoulders thrown back, feet firmly planted, while his love was more withdrawn, her presence not strong. _Christine was demure and modest. Chaste, innocent... She knew her place as a woman…_He sneered at her with mild disgust. Christine was the perfect woman, his ideal personification of beauty._ This one does not. And then that hair_…The woman on stage had a cloud of fiery curls cut as short as a boy's might be_. If it was not for the dress and the soprano, I might have not known her to be a woman at all_…He was unable to see her face, but imagined it fierce and aggressive to match her firebrand hair and fighter stance. His lip curling with distaste, he felt a rising animosity towards her_. If she could only be Christine…_Although her not being the former star of the Opera Populaire was no fault of her own, he privately blamed her, wanting to believe that she was the reason Christine had not returned. She cut off after only a few verses, shaking her head, visibly unhappy with the sound she produced. _She should be, she sincerely needs to be trained. To think what I could do with that voice!_ The thought immediately offended so much that he shook his head viciously to dispel it. _NO! I will not be caught in that trap again! No, I do not like this woman invading my opera_…His eyes burned on her as she left the stage, still unaware of their intense glare.

She left the stage, withdrawing back into the wings and then into the maze of hallways, a rich hum wafting behind her. Drawn by curiosity and a desperate need for distraction, he followed, silently. The woman never hesitated in her march down the halls, never heard the footsteps soft as snowfall. Suddenly she stopped short, and he felt a flash of panic. _There is no where to hide_! So he stood still as stone, only the shadows of the hall protecting him. Still, she didn't notice his presence, she merely ducked into what he knew as the costume room, her sack of wreckage swinging jauntily over her shoulder. He was slow to follow, but heard her gasp of delight. A surprising sliver of vague amusement broke through his melancholy. Peering around the doorway, he watched her with growing interest as she perused through the costumes, vanishing from view behind the burdened racks. Taking his chance, he slipped through the doorway towards a large mirror that was mounted on a wall facing the racks. Although he had hardly ever used the passage behind the mirror that connected to his network of underground tunnels, the mirror opened easily once he found the latch. Hearing a female voice calling from somewhere outside the costume room, the former Phantom stepped behind the mirror to watch.

Another worker soon entered, the women spoke in English—a language he had hardly ever heard spoken but had often read in. Their dialects confused him slightly, the woman who entered had a thick cockney British accent, while the other…_I have no idea…she is not British, where else speaks English? America? _The women chattered in the back of the room, shuffling to the entrance again with a mountain of clothing heaped over their shoulders. The singer turned her back to the mirror, displaying a garment to the newcomer. _Women and clothing…Does anything else matter to them?_ His ire mounting as his mind worked over the vanity of women, he was suddenly struck with alarm as the singer began to undress. A angry blush rippled up his cheeks as he averted his eyes. Never had he seen a naked woman, and it seemed even less appropriate to goggle at one whose face he hadn't even seen. The women continued to chatter, completely oblivious to his discomfort. Listening intently to their conversation in hopes that it would tell him when she was decent again, he waited. A gasp and excited exclamations regained his attention. Deeming it safe to look, the nameless man turned his gaze to the woman standing on the other side of the mirror. He lurched backwards in surprise as she leaned into the mirror, wide blue eyes seeming to pierce the glass and stare into him. He had been right in his assumption that she would have a fierce face, but she certainly wasn't ugly. Her squared jaw, angular cheekbones and high brows were certainly intimidating, but not entirely unpleasant. Each feature was slightly unusual, but meshed well, creating an interesting whole. The red swarm of curls that clouded around her face did nothing to soften her striking features, the only thing even hinting at the softness that had embodied Christine was the new girl's arresting blue eyes. _She's beautiful…very beautiful, but in a very strange way. Not like Christine at all…_

Slowly, he approached the glass of the mirror, curiosity dominating all other emotions. He welcomed the new emotion, wanting to delay the pain that had overcome him for the past few days. With a slightly repulsed interest, he realized that she was dirty, her face decorated with smudged ash, her hair gritty with it. The dirt, however, did not extend below her face, the collar of her other dress preventing it from reaching the lily-white but freckle-peppered skin below. Freckles flecked her neck and shoulders, nothing like the soft, pure snow of Christine's skin. The repulsion only increased exponentially as he took in the dress that she wore. _Christine's wedding dress! _The very dress that he had forced Christine to wear when he took her to his lair three days before now hugged the trim body of the new worker. A thousand thoughts whirled in his mind, he was unable to control them. A violent physical illness came over him as he could not stop the pent-up memories from pouring out of the recesses of his mind. Quaking with rage, frustration, hate, fear, longing, lust, and utter despair, he weaved on his feet. Suddenly nauseous, he tried not to pitch forward through the mirror. The dress was no longer water-logged and sagging, and swathed in the layers of white silk and lace, the raspy soprano look luscious in a way that Christine had not. Along with the tightness of the bodice on a fuller chest, the girl radiated a confident maturity that Christine had never developed, and he felt reluctantly drawn to her. More than reluctant. Hatred boiled over all the other emotions that fought for dominance as he gazed on the strange beauty of the woman in front of him. _NOT AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN!_ The mere idea of another woman pulling him into her clutches terrified him, and he reacted with a loathing towards her that he reserved for few. As she spun and laughed in the mirror, giving him a view from all angles to admire, he could no longer watch. Flinging himself into the passage leading to the reassuring darkness of his home under the opera house, he tried to force what he had just seen out of his mind.


	8. Not Their Opera House Yet

_What Doesn't Kill You_

_By MissCyraf_

8

"Not Their Opera House Yet"

My next few days at the opera house didn't seem to go as well as the first. The managers had posted an announcement to the workers stating that they wanted to reopen the Opera Populaire as early as a few weeks from now. More workers had been hired in response to this, and our shifts were rescheduled yet again. The atmosphere had become darker as exhaustion and irritability had set in, the workers having no patience and short tempers. Fights breaking out became a common occurrence, and I felt like I was walking on eggshells even with the people I had considered "friends". Kathryn was particularly stressed, I found out that she came to Paris for work in order to feed her five-year old daughter and herself. She was two years younger than me, she had been a teenage mother alone in London. Made an untouchable by most society, the only work she could find in England had been less than acceptable to her, prostitution. So, with what little money she had, they had moved to Paris, hoping to start over. Hearing her story, I made her accept half of my salary, as I didn't really need it. I had clothing, food, a warm place to sleep, and relatively hot water, I didn't need anything else. She'd tried to refuse, but I didn't listen to her, slapping my little bag of coins into her palm.

Adding to the tension was an undercurrent of rumors and gossip, generally fearful in nature. Obviously, people were viciously curious about what had caused the Opera Populaire to burn, the event that lead to their jobs. While more practical workers simply attributed the disaster to incompetence, human error, etc., most of the crew thought that the blame rested with "the Opera Ghost". Having been there, I informed them that a maniac actor had cut the ropes to the chandelier, but tales of the "Phantom" prevailed.

I crashed into one of the red velvet chairs that was reasonably still intact, resting my scrub brush and bucket of polish beside me. The stage had been rebuilt by carpenters 'round the clock, but the new wood was starkly ugly next to the fine polished planks of the older parts. Three of us, myself, Kathryn and a woman named Marguerette, had been tasked to scrub a staining polish solution into the wood until it was dyed to match the rest. At first I had been happy about it, my hands were sufficiently cut and scraped from picking up the rubble. The pain that my back and knees, though, were supplying was enough to cause me to sincerely despise the wood, the stage, and especially the fumy polish. '_What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger_…' I ignored the thought, my eyes fluttered shut as I melted into the chair, the weight of my exhaustion seeping into my muscles. A thick chuckle from the stage caused my eyes to crack back open.

" Tha's ridiculous, Maggs, utter foolishness," Kathryn sat cross legged, flapping her polish rag at Maguerette. The sour older woman, pursed her lips, glaring.

"No, it is not. The Phantom caused the fire, they say he flung fireballs into the audience while capturing Mademoiselle Daae." Maguerette pressed in heavily accented English, leaning towards Kathryn to enforce her point. My back screaming as I stood up, I brushed dust and ash off of my skirts and sauntered over to the women.

"Kathryn's right, Marguerette. Those rumors are nonsense. Believe me, I love the idea of a mysterious, powerful Phantom just as much as anyone else, but realistically, it just can't happen. No, it was some crazy actor that cut one of the ropes of the chandelier. The others just couldn't support its weight alone, so it fell. It didn't even fall on the audience, it hit the stage, and the gas fixtures started the fire, which is why we're workin' our asses off now…" I flopped down beside them, arching my back into a stretch. "There is no Phantom haunting the opera, no singer he's madly in love with, nothing. Just scared, tired people trying to make a scandal to entertain themselves." I wagged my finger at her, my expression grim. It had occurred to me over the course of the last few days that my favorite novel by Gaston Leroux, and the movie I had seen so long ago, had many, _many_ things in common with my life at the Opera Populaire. I hadn't quite worked it out, whether I was somehow living in reality or in an injury induced fantasy influenced by the novel I had just read. Either way, I still very much doubted the existence of an actual Phantom. The whole concept was wonderful for a novel, but just…not possible. _Couldn't happen_…Marguerette merely snorted, displeased that we weren't captivated by her story. Huffing, she began to scrub at the stage again.

"Mark my words, you two, you will be sorry you said that…" Behind her back, we rolled our eyes, I tried to hold back my laughter as Kathryn did a silent silly exaggeration of Margarette.

o o o o o

He watched from above, crouched in the lofty rafters, dust falling into his eyes. For the past few days, different emotions, ideas, had been battling over what to do with himself. It was foolish to believe that things could go back to the way they were, he knew that there would be consequences. _Besides, Christine is no longer here_…He knew that she was the source of the insanity that had overtaken him for the past few years. The more he had desired to possess her, the further he had descended into madness The Phantom had gone, over the recent years, from intimidating shadow to real monster and predator, terrorizing the Opera Populaire in his effort to promote his star, Christine. But mere days ago, everything that he had become had been crushed with her desertion and betrayal. Now that she was gone, he was broken. But so was the spell of insanity.

He was no longer the Phantom, but a man. A mortal man who was extensively vulnerable. With the loss of Christine, he had lost the part of himself that had controlled him completely, and though he mourned her absence, the pain throbbed within him always, in a small way he felt lighter. Different. And confused. His life had revolved around the young singer, his entire being devoted to her. Now, he lacked direction and purpose, his thoughts drifted in and out of focus as he thought on what to do with himself. He had tried to leave the Opera Populaire, wanting to get far away from the place that so reminded him of his departed angel. He had failed though, fear preventing it. He had only left once in his entire time at the opera house, in pursuit of Christine, to win her once and for all. That he had failed at as well, and his apprehension at leaving had evolved into a real paranoia. Since, he had resigned himself to surviving at the Opera Populaire, at least temporarily, until he could gather the courage to leave.

The managers were potentially proving to be a threat to that plan, talk floated around that they were planning to search for a way to attempt to rid themselves of the troublesome Ghost. Though he seriously doubted the rumors had any truth in them, in his weakened state, he was firmly believing in caution. No more trouble from the Phantom, no more blatant sightings, no notes, no involvement. He deemed it best in his current situation to let the managers believe that he was dead rather than bring unwanted attention to himself. He often left his cavernous home now, gathering information on possible threats, and trying to silently manipulate the moods in the opera house. It was not the luxury it had been before the night of the disaster, now it was purely for survival. He had been listening to conversations, spying on not only the workers, but the managers as well, in order to see what they knew of his home under the Opera. Madam Giry had betrayed him, had lead the fool Vicomte down to his lair the night of the disaster, he or Christine could have easily told others where specifically to find him. The managers had tried half-heartedly before, sending small groups of people through the only entrance they knew about, a trapdoor on the stage that he had collapsed the tunnels to. Since that disastrous evening that had changed his life, they had redoubled their efforts, now taking him seriously. He had noticed some workers that didn't seem to help with the clean-up, taking measurements and doing calculations instead. He was suspicious, not knowing if they were contractors hired to rebuild and redesign the old-fashioned opera house, or hired to uncover his passages leading to his home_. Either way, I do not want them here…the managers are becoming far too bold. And yet, I am unable to tame them. At least right now. It is best to wait, learn what I can...Soon I will let them know that the Phantom is not yet ready to leave,_ _and deflect their foolish attempts to oust me. It is not their opera house yet. _

Although his spying often had a purpose, he found himself also watching the doings of the workers for entertainment. After his first excursion, however accidental, out of his chambers below, he had been repeatedly drawn back to the energetic rebirth of the Opera Populaire. He found the activity reassuringly distracting, disconnecting his mind from his grieving soul. Although he knew it was only delaying the pain, he craved relief, accepting it in any form. The workers living in the Opera Populaire were a good source of entertainment, most of them superstitious enough to be panicked by his innocent pranking. Nothing serious or obvious, only subtle tricks to enflame their fears. Nothing that could be truly traced back to him, only things that could be easily explained otherwise. _No involvement. At least…no real involvement_.

Their daily activities dull, he livened them up with little individual panics. That sort of entertainment, though, only took him so far, and he found himself reluctantly watching one faintly interesting employee. The raspy soprano. Seeing her in the dress, even on stage, he subconsciously linked her to Christine, and although it was unfortunately impossible for him to loath his angel, Christine, nothing prevented him from irrationally hating the firebrand worker. He had come across her frequently in his eavesdropping and pranking excursions, scowling every time his eyes touched her form. Though he hated to admit it, his dislike for her was only surpassed by his rabid curiosity in her, and as she and two other female workers socialized, he settled himself in the flies, listening, hoping that some of her mystery would be solved so he could satisfy his curiosity sufficiently enough to ignore her. She clearly stood out from the others by way of her unusual appearance and mannerisms, her soprano sardonic and brassy, grating against his ears. She used different language than the other English speakers, but her language was not the only reason he believed her to be strange. The way she acted, stood, dealt with others was different from common protocol. She seemed rude, impulsive, loud, and unabashed compared with acceptable behavior for women.

Her manner relaxed, lazy almost, she slouched next to the other workers. She was covered in the greasy polish, her hair had dust in it. _She lacks any sort of grace or sense of propriety. Nothing like Christine_, he thought again. _Except she is beautiful. Beautiful women are all alike, she would scream at the sight of me, reject me immediately_, _just like _she_ did._...Soured, he turned his attention back to their conversation. _They are debating my existence! She does not believe in the Opera Ghost_…Bitter at her outright rejection, even of the persona he _allowed_ the world to know, he seethed at the offense. After years of establishing the character of a threatening, commanding, malicious spirit, he felt like she was insulting him personally by ignoring the history proving that he existed.

_Impudent wench, I will show her who does not exist…_Deciding proof was necessary, he waited.


	9. A Precious Loss

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

9

"A Precious Loss"

Kathryn and I sat on the steps of the Grand Staircase, watching the flood of actors, singers, dancers, musicians push through the doors of the Opera Populaire. The managers had put up flyers calling for open auditions, and the response had been generous.

"Look at 'em. Never knew there were so many theater folk in all of Europe, least of all, Paris…Do ya think they came 'cause the Opera Populaire is famous now?" She had a point, since the disaster, the opera house had drawn a crowd daily, people just staring at it, at the construction occurring within it. Since yesterday, the Opera Populaire had been even more a flurry of activity, hosting crowds in the thousands. I shuddered slightly as I watched cliques of people warming up their instruments, stretching, doing vocal warm-ups_. Reminds me of highschool…ugh._ Taking advantage of the chaos to extend the hour we had off, Kathryn departed to go see her daughter. Elizabeth, a bubbly blonde sprite that I had the good fortune to meet a few times, was staying with a woman who ran a primitive sort of daycare a few blocks away, so Kathryn took whatever time she had off to visit her. Not wanting to be a third wheel in her time with her daughter, I retreated to the second level, the masses of people making me claustrophobic. Grinning like an idiot as I took a seat in the infamous Box Five, I leaned over the railing, silently watching the hustle and bustle below.

The night of Mom's party was my last memory of my "other life", I hardly even remembered crashing into the mirror. Resting my chin on my arms, I mentally reviewed my life at the opera house, comparing it to the seemingly distant one before. _This place…just being here, has caused so many changes in me. Weird, I've been so busy, I haven't really thought or worried about anything I used to. _It was discomforting to me, attributes that I commonly associated with myself, however bad, seemed almost foreign. The most obvious was that I hadn't cared what I looked like or what people thought of me. I had just accepted that I looked like hell and moved on, not really caring. At home I did a full make up job everyday, strangely paranoid that I would be looked down upon if I wasn't perfect. I wanted attention, I wanted to be noticed, but was terrified that some one would actually notice me, pay attention to me. Sometimes it was so bad that I couldn't meet peoples' eyes, fearing that somehow if I did, they would see the real me in them. Therefore, I hadn't gotten close to anyone in years, I still had friends, but they had become more and more distant as my relationship with Josh progressed. They had offered support when we broke up, but instead of simply taking it, and leaning on them, I withdrew, not wanting to be seen. I was a mass of contradictions, I knew. I craved to be special, important, to someone, but absolutely couldn't take the steps to ever allow anyone in. Considering Kathryn, I realized that she was the first real friend I had made in years. _And she's amazing, and so strong. She takes care of herself and Elizabeth and is completely dependent on only herself. I don't think I could do that…or at least I couldn't before. Now I look people dead in the eyes, and let them know exactly what I think…Why? Is it because I know I'm not actually here? Haha, it's easier to be strong when everyone else around you is a dream._ The thought saddened me somewhat, if everyone was a dream, so was my closest friend here, and so was this new found confidence in myself.

I was never a shy or passive person growing up, but had certainly been a push-over, letting more aggressive people walk all over me. _Like Josh_. I shivered at the thought of him, it had been a while since I had had the time to think about him. Whenever a thought or memory had surfaced over the past week and a half, I had pushed it away, refusing to let myself think about him. It had been a week since the villainous 19th, officially five months and one week since it happened. No longer seeing the activity below, I felt emotions begin to surge upward, the bottle I had worked so hard to keep clamped closed crack and splinter as my mind was engulfed by memories.

"_Hey there," I looked up into brilliant blue eyes that were holding mine with an easy gaze. I blushed as I recognized the handsome face of the guy I had been admiring from afar for the past two months. "Sorry to interrupt you, but I left my brushes in my apartment…do you think I could share with you today?" I blinked furiously, then blurted out a yes. His name was Joshua. He had light brown hair, and a stocky stature, and his eye level was right at mine, so I guessed he was about my height, give or take. But that didn't matter, he was beautiful. A charming, easy smile and sunny, bright eyes had attracted me from the first time I saw him. My friends proclaimed it was love at first sight, I informed them there was no such thing. But there was attraction. And I was so attracted to him…We were in the same art class, and since the very beginning I had tried to find out as much as possible about him. He was a year older than me, he must have started school a year late because he was also a senior, just like me. Some friends of mine had been keeping tabs on him since I had admitted my interest, they had informed me he had broken up recently with a startlingly beautiful girl for reasons unknown. The sun hit his face at the perfect angle, he was just so good looking…I shook my head to make myself concentrate on what I was doing. The last thing I needed was for him to think I was some sort of idiot. I held up my brushes, he picked one out and went back to his easel, and I pretended that I didn't need that brush anyway. I would have been content with that little amount on contact, just that little amount of interaction was enough to get me through a week of blissful fantasies in which we dated, got married and had lovely children that looked just like him. It was absolutely ridiculous, I knew, but just a crush. A harmless crush that would fizzle out. Nothing would come of it. But then he moved his easel next to mine, and we made light conversation throughout the entire class. Towards the end, he scanned my painting. "That's pretty good…really good, actually. What's your major?" "Bio tech, I just love to paint and I needed a break from my hard classes," I smiled at him, he chuckled, glancing over his own work. "Well, I'm an art major and God, do I wish I had your talent…" I grinned at him, not knowing what to say that wouldn't insult his work. I didn't want to offend my dream man… "It's ok, you can say it. It's crap. Oh well. I specialize in photography anyways," I nodded in support, and questioned him about it. He ended up telling me how he wanted to become a professional photographer, how much he loved it, and how "one picture is worth a thousand words" was his personal motto. I soaked it up like a sponge, planning to gush everything I knew about him later to my friends. I adored guys who liked the arts. Even though I was a bio tech major, art and music had been passions of mine since my early childhood. Expecting him to just leave when he was done with my brush, I was surprised when he offered his hand. "I'm Josh, by the way," I shook his hand firmly. "Gwen. Gwen Shepherd. Nice to meet you, Josh."_

"_No more my grief, in such a precious __loss_._"_…_No, he wasn't precious. I haven't lost anything._ I had to remind myself of my worth, of his lack. The Shakespeare quote had wounded me though, and wasn't easy to suppress. …_Did I make a mistake? Was he really the love of my life? Should I have forgiven him?_ Questions that came again and again, haunting me since it had happened. I wanted it to have not happened, for him to have been loyal, seeing only me. But no matter how hard I wished, the facts remained. Burying my face into my arms, I gave up, unable to stop the outpour of feeling. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks, making pools in the creases of my arms. I felt my face redden, wrinkle, in the disgusting mask it always made when I cried. Trying to dry the tears on my sleeve as fast as they gushed out, I hiccupped with quiet anguish. Repetitions of insecure thoughts grasped at my mind, and once again I truly believed what they said, draining away the self-belief I had created over the past week and a half. _I wasn't good enough. I drove him away. I wasn't smart enough, successful enough, pretty enough. I'm so ugly, how could I possibly think that he would stay with me? I'm lucky that I was even able to get his attention in the first place. I never knew what he saw in me…I guess it just took him a while to realize what I freak I am—_the thoughts were cut off my a single floating whisper of a violin. A tendril of a soft tune touched at my ears, I sat up, snuffling, hoping to find where it was coming from. I glanced at the stage, thinking that someone was auditioning. People were standing on stage, but only talking, no one was playing. _Where the hell is that coming from? _It was so soft, I couldn't believe that it would be from below me, it wouldn't have been able to cut through the din to reach me. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping to wipe away the mascara that was certainly staining my face. The tube was running out, and I privately mourned its passing, but accepted my appearance as it was. No one would care, I knew, and I was covered in grease and dirt anyway.

The mysterious melody seemed to hover around me, its glory building with intricate harmonies. _Only a true master could produce music like this, whoever's doing it, they should hire them! Hehe, maybe it's the Phantom!_ As the thought wafted through my mind, I chuckled. Then it sunk in. _He would often play for Christine to lure her into his clutches…mysterious, beautiful music that no one else could hear_…Despite my belief that the Phantom didn't exist, I got to my feet and hurried out of the box, no longer thinking of Josh.

o o o o o

His violin case slung over his back with the intention of messing with some of the gullible theaterfolk, he came across a startling presence in his Box. _Insolent child, what the hell is she doing here! _He immensely disliked the girl, she was constantly and blatantly denying the identity he had developed over the past fifteen years to her fellow workers. Although he no longer thought of himself as the Phantom, he felt that he might need the persona still, or at least the possible threat of it, to protect himself. He had gathered his strength over the past few days, but an irrational fear still kept him from quitting the Opera Populaire. The world outside was too foreign, his only real knowledge of it pulled from the warped memories of a terrified, beaten, starved child.

Now, he felt little real connection to the Phantom, his connection to the mad Ghost rooted in his possessive need for the beautiful young opera singer. Christine no longer present, tentative sanity seemed to have returned to him. He was once again human. The Ghost though, was still potentially needed. _I still need to survive, at least until I can leave the Opera Populaire…_The Phantom was the only way he could get what he needed to survive. Besides his little jokes, he had been keeping quiet, not wanting to assure anyone if he was there or not. The possibility alone was enough to keep the masses of frightened workers from seeking him out. He had heard the rumors, most believed he still was alive. The managers were being very secretive about their positions on his existence, but gossip was circulating that a bounty was placed on his head. An enormous bounty. Now, only the fear alone was keeping workers puffed up with bravado from trying to find him, and the last thing he needed was even more people out looking to kill him. The disaster, he knew, was never far from their minds, and as long as they believed in his power, they, for the most part, left him be. _But_, _they grow more bold with everyday that passes…The Phantom cannot lay dormant for too long, lest their fear drain away completely. No, more proof, more "pranks" are needed to keep _them_ at bay, but not enough to press the managers_… He was in worse than a rock and a hard place, he needed to retain the proper balance of fear and mystery to prevent the managers from hiring more contractors and architects, and deter the workers from attempting to find him themselves. As long as they believed him alive and killing, they wouldn't go looking for trouble. But if they believed him dead, they would try to find his corpse, or whatever else evidence they could dig up. And if they were goaded by a certain individual into proving his existence by searching for his home…_Irksome girl. The whisper of a threat must remain_. The Phantom still needed, he resented the girl's absolute resistance_. She is undermining me! This cannot be allowed._

He had set her up to be an enemy, an obstacle in this path for survival. His anger flared at the sight of her, her presence staining the precious memories of his Box. Sudden anger dissolved into wary confusion, though, as he noticed what she was doing. In his state of "war" between them, he had tried to intimidate her with possible ghostly activity, moving her utensils when she worked, trailing her with light but audible footsteps, even going so far as rearranging the objects in her little bedroom, if only just to silence her loud denial. If she had even noticed, though, she remained unwaveringly resilient. Nothing seemed to unsettle her, she was as unflappable as always. After nearly giving up on her in irritation, he was flabbergasted to see her quietly crying, her figure bent painfully over. He had made her out to be an enemy, enemies were not supposed to have human, real feelings. Vaguely disturbed at the sight of this hole in her impenetrable armor, he wondered if her confidence was as really as secure as it seemed. Her sobs grew more wracking, her figure shook violently. His musings towards the girl faltered, his former opinion of her character couldn't absorb this new discovery. Watching her sob into her hands, he began to rethink his ideas of her. _She is crass in her manners, completely unladylike…And yet…_The vicious curiosity that had driven him in the past to obsessive reading, researching, observing and studying in order to learn on a topic that interested him, peaked. _Perhaps she is not what I thought…_He made a mental note to study her more carefully, but with an unbiased eye.

Irritating though it was, he felt discomforted by her distress, and he pulled out his violin, starting to play a soothing melody to calm her. It took her a few seconds to react, she stopped crying, started glancing around for the source. Though the gesture was meant to be kind, a rarity for him, he couldn't help feel slight satisfaction at her confusion. The small smile that had broken over her face was replaced by anxiousness, and she abruptly fled the box. _Perhaps she believes in me now_…A smirk played at his lips.


	10. A New Millennium

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

10

"A New Millennium"

The reopening of the Opera Populaire was only four weeks away, and if possible, the theater had become only more busy. The auditions had ended and the cast had been chosen. A new opera had been chosen as well. The new production was to be "Romeo and Juliet", quite an undertaking for the limping opera house. It had been two weeks since I had ran out of Box Five, fleeing the disembodied music, and nearly every night since the casting, we had been working nights in the stage hall so rehearsals could be held there during the day. Worse yet, the managers had somehow gotten it into their heads that the show would be ready within four weeks. I hadn't worked on a show since undergrad college, but even I knew that six weeks total was not nearly enough time to put an opera together. Everyone was high strung because of the break-neck schedule pace. Construction wasn't even done yet, not even the stage. It only made things more frustrating for the laborers, though, as we had to now work more unusual hours so the actors, dancers, and musicians could have various rooms and the stage.

I understood that they wanted the Opera Populaire open as soon as possible to pull in funds; they couldn't rely totally on their patron forever. Gossip had informed me that the managers were seriously in debt, the last performance had been a disaster in more ways than one. Critics of the last performance, "Don Juan Triumphant", said that the music and story had been brilliant, but the glory of the show had been lost in the insanity of the actor that brought on the catastrophe of the chandelier. The show could have been a success, it had been socially daring, breaking the classic mold of opera with its sensual content. The show had been extremely expensive, and only opening night brought in any revenue, much of it demanded back by enraged spectators. More money had been sapped from their pockets by various lawsuits, and Andre and Firmin, both formerly extravagantly affluent, were now in the poorhouse. Only the patron's support was keeping the Opera Populaire afloat, and rumor had it that he was threatening to pull his support. Therefore, Andre and Firmin were counting on "Romeo and Juliet". It was their livelihoods.

Exhaustion setting in, I felt particularly anti-social, tired of constantly being surrounded by a swarm of loud, obnoxious performers. Besides Kathryn, I rarely spoke to the other workers, a melancholy had settled into my being. _Perhaps I'm just PMSing…_Kathryn had mentioned that I seemed a little down, wondering what was wrong. She offered me my money back, hoping that I could use it to buy some happiness. I had refused, insisting that her buying her daughter the dress she wanted would bring me more joy. _Maybe it's just that I've been here for over two weeks. I had hoped that I would have woken up by now…gotten back to my other life. My _real _ life. It wasn't great, but I miss it. I miss my plants, poor Mercedes, Miranda, Duke and Lyle, they must need some water…Ok, that's pathetic. Hm…Maybe this _is_ real life. But then, then my other world would be carrying on without me…Are they looking for me? My parents, best friend? They would care if I just dropped off the face of the Earth!_ My surety that I was just suffering from an injury induced hallucination had been wobbling, the idea that this _was_ the real world creeping around my confidence_. I know I'm in France; Paris…But when? _Although I had absorbed the clues that this was not the same time as it had been only weeks before, my brain had rejected the idea, focused on the fact that flying around in time was impossible. The idea hung on though, I couldn't deny the facts forever, no matter how much I wanted to.

Other things had been bothering me recently. What few possessions I had kept moving around my room, I heard things, saw things. Figuring that someone was trying to steal from me and not bothering to conceal the fact, I hid my valuables—my purse and dress from "home". But the strange sounds, shapes that seemed to float around me…_Especially when I'm alone?_ They weirded me out, certainly, but not knowing how to react, and the logic in my brain offering reasonable explanations, I attempted to ignore them. They were nothing in the beginning, perhaps a shadow moved in the corner of my eye, distant footsteps echoing down the halls. Now, though, the footsteps were closer, louder, the shadows surrounding me. Strange music would sometimes flutter around me when I was alone, and I could never find the source. Thoughts of a mysterious Phantom popped into my brain more and more often, especially after the strange incident in the Box, but I stubbornly refused them acknowledgement.

And finally, worse than the exhaustion and creepiness, was the fact that the nineteenth of November was only a little over a week away. I hadn't explained the dreaded day to Kathryn yet, and wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, I wasn't even planning on it. I liked her a lot, even more than many of my friends back home, but an unknown reservation held me back from spilling my secrets. I hadn't told her that I thought I might be from the "future", I still really wanted to believe that I was in some sort of delusion. I wasn't ready to admit it wasn't true. I also hadn't spoken to her about my weird incidents. Strange occurrences that could have reasonable explanations…_they could_… I felt guilty about it, but feared driving away my only friend. _Better for her to think me eccentric rather than purely insane. _

It was 7 o'clock on November the tenth. I was "preparing" for my evening shift, resting in the stage hall, the shift being from 7:30 to 3:30 in the morning, a good eight hour haul. My body ached, my innards were cramped, I had a raging headache, and was beyond cranky. Even Kathryn had been avoiding me today, over lunch I had unintentionally snapped at her when she tried to joke with me. I felt terrible about it, attempted to apologize, she seemed to accept it but clearly didn't want to be around me until my mood cleared. _Probably for the best anyway_, I thought miserably, seating myself in a red velvet seat. _She has enough on her plate without me biting her head off_…I let my eyes flutter closed, hoping that if I shut out the bright lights of the stage, my head would unbind a bit. I floated away from the world a little, dozing in my fatigue, when a clear, brilliant tenor pierced through my respite. My eyes flew open, scanning for the source. Singing the lead in an articulate Italian, a lean young man was blasting out a solo to a woman on stage. He was obviously Romeo, and she, Juliet. Everyone having read the Shakespeare play in highschool, I knew the story fairly well and could identify the scene. Juliet, a portly older woman perched like an overfed pigeon on a telephone wire, sat looking over the rail of her balcony down at her young suitor. I couldn't understand the language, but was well aware of the jist of what he was saying to her. Delighted and finding my mood beginning to clear, I watched him intently as he professed his love to her, gesturing emphatically. He cheated out, singing towards the audience, his gaze sweeping the empty seats before him. Then, to my intense embarrassment, his eyes settled on me, and a slight smile colored his voice. I fidgeted uncomfortably, his voice was gorgeous, his shining eyes captivating as they reached out to mine. I closed my eyes, pretending indifference, and attempted to go back to resting. His voice stretched into a high note, and impressed, I peeked another glance at him. He was still looking at me, and as he continued his solo, he waggled his fingers at me every so slightly in a playful wave. My face burned, I stood and left, thoroughly embarrassed.

- - -

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," An accented French broke through the din around me. I glared over my shoulder as I bent over a pile of clothing I had been collecting to wash. I had been tasked with laundry duty, and seemingly everyone in the ensemble was depositing their sweaty practice costumes all around backstage. My heavy expression blanked clear as I stared up into the face of the tenor I had been listening to earlier in the evening. The night's rehearsal must have finally finished, actors, musicians, and dancers streamed around me, dumping their used clothing articles on the floor. I had picked up _a_ _little_ French over my time in the opera house, I understood what he was currently saying, but certainly couldn't carry a conversation.

"Je parle seulement monsieur anglais," I returned, still embarrassed enough to want to avoid him. _I only speak English, sir…_Sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, bangs hanging in bright brown eyes that were seated in an open, friendly face. He smiled broadly, dimples at each end of his mouth. To my surprise, he only smiled more broadly, laughing outright.

"English? Surely you must be teasing me?" I noticed immediately. His accent, almost familiar, not French.

"You're…you're an American?" I stood upright, tucking some laundry under my arm.

"Born and bred in Boston, Massachusetts. And you?" He leaned down to scoop up some more laundry from the larger pile on the floor. Raising a brow at him, I smirked, trying to look more confident than I felt. Even with my new-found confidence, I still wasn't used to men coming up and talking to me. Flirting with me. It was bizarre and entirely foreign.

"Well I was born in Virginia, but I used to live in DC, the capital…before coming here. Looking to do some laundry for extra cash? I wouldn't think a lead would need it…" I brushed past him, still embarrassed despite how friendly he seemed to be, hoping to escape. The last time I could remember an attractive male paying direct attention to me, I ended up catching him in bed with a model after months of planning our wedding. I still didn't want the attention, though I could look him evenly in the eyes. "Romeo", though, was persistent.

"Heh, I never turn down a paycheck, miss," He joked, winking at me. "A southern girl, hmm? Move here to escape the war?" _1870? The Civil War I suppose? It would have only ended five years ago…_

"Um, yeah. But I'm new to France. I like to travel, I guess," I shoved my way through the herd of operafolk towards the underbelly of the opera house where the laundry was done. It was mostly true, I did love to travel. I just never got to do any of it. I almost hoped to lose him in the crowd, complimented, yet flustered, but he kept a steady pace behind me, talking over the general commotion.

"Yes, I moved out here to avoid it too. A few years back, I lost my brothers when they joined the Union Army…Anyway, I came here to sing. With the war, there was not much work for a kid of fighting age who just wanted to sing opera…" He chuckled, but I could hear some pain behind the forced laugh. He had followed me out of the bustle and we paused in a quieter hall. I turned to face him, tucking my load back under my arm so I could offer him my hand. _He seems nice, not like Jonathan or Josh. I'm making new friends, and it couldn't hurt to have another one…Might as well…_

"I'm Gwen. Gwen Shepherd." Dropping his load to the wooden planked floor, he grasped my hand firmly, giving it a hearty shake and squeeze.

"Nathaniel Clark, a pleasure to meet you, Gwen." He flashed me another bright grin. "So, where are we taking these?" I smiled in response, waiting for him to collect the clothing he dropped.

"Come on, I'll show you…"

- - -

Despite my new found friend in Nathaniel, my days became increasingly stressful, which I hadn't thought was possible. I saw him nearly every day, we bonded immediately over both being from the States. I didn't tell him I thought I might be from the States a hundred and thirty years in the future. Nathanial and I talked about nearly everything else, though, especially opera. We mostly met at meals, saw each other over breaks, and I even introduced him to Kathryn.

"I like 'im," Kathryn leaned across the velvet seat in front of her. We had a fifteen minute break and were spending it listening to Nathanial and the ensemble practice. And gossiping about him. "Might I also add tha' you seem happier with 'im around? You 'ave actually been smiling," She gave me a mischievous smirk, chuckling as I looked away.

"He's been giving me voice lessons. Voice lessons, Kathryn! Ugh, I haven't sung for ages, I'd forgotten how wonderful it feels!"

"Voice lessons? Is that all? No other…_interest_…in 'im?" Her drawled whispers and quirky smile caused me to laugh aloud, then slap my hand over my mouth. If we disturbed the rehearsal, we'd be thrown out.

"No! It's not like that! I mean, yeah, he's great and all, but I don't know…" I shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not in a good place for a relationship or anything. Besides, he couldn't possibly be interested in me. I mean, look at me! I don't think I've gotten a decent bath in four days!" I had washed up, unable to go without, but hadn't had much time to really soak out all the pain and dirt that had become embedded in my body. Kathryn snorted, draping her arms over the seat in front of her.

"Cripes, girl, do ya hear yerself? I swear, tha' boy absolutely fawns over you. Open yer eyes." She smiled up at him as he strolled across the stage, and he shot a wink at her.

"Well, whatever. Like I said, I'm just not into any sort of relationship. Friendship, fine. Nothing more." I sincerely doubted that he was attracted to me, the very idea unsettled me. My mood darkened substantially as I watched him parade across the stage, belting a duet as the soprano tried to smother him with the force of her voice.

"_Hey there, pretty lady," His sweet voice tickled at my ear over the phone, I felt the cliché pulse of affection as I laughed. "Listen, I called to tell you that I can't make our date tonight, something came up at work." I had planned an incredibly romantic dinner in, I had spent most of the past two days deciding what I was going to cook. I learned just for him, we had been talking about moving in together and I knew he couldn't cook, so I started working on my culinary skills. It was supposed to be a surprise. I felt like my chest collapsed with disappointment as I nodded into the phone. _

"_Work?"_

"_Yeah, I just have to get this shoot organized for tomorrow. If I don't finish it tonight, I'm in trouble." I supported him reluctantly, pushing my massing disappointment into a bottle in the back of my mind. I have to encourage him, he's chasing his dream, he's so close! One night doesn't matter. But it had been more than one night. He was skipping out on "our" time more and more over the past month, and after a year and a half of me getting used to sharing a bed with his warm body, one of us usually just sleeping at the other's place, it was nearly painful to go to bed alone again. I was hoping tonight would plaster the cracks in our relationship, the little doubts that had been picking at me for over a month. _

"_Ok, whatever you need to do. Just get in ASAP, I'm lonely all by myself…" I made the last bit a joke, but knew that it wasn't. Transition from undergrad to grad school and work had been more difficult than I had ever anticipated, especially moving to DC to follow Josh. His career seemed to be improving by leaps and bounds, while I was barely staying on my feet. I had gotten a part time job at a nearby vet office, and went to school as well. Besides being incredibly busy, I had lost many of my old school friends during the transition. I felt entirely alone. But at least I had Josh. _

I shook myself free from the memory viciously. Kathryn turned a questioning look on me.

"…Gwen?" I stood abruptly, not wanting to face her or Nathaniel.

"I have to get to work."

- - -

Two days later, all my building stresses and fears drove me to action when the pestering presence continued to make itself known. It must have been around three thirty to four in the morning, my shift had just ended, and "exhaustion" couldn't describe the state of fatigue I was in. Slowly but surely, it was growing closer to the 19th, four days away, and my mind was being drawn more and more often to Josh and all the pain he brought with him. When I had left, people were still installing new red velvety seats, painting over blacked walls and fixtures, trying to re-hang backdrops, secure new light fixtures. Their commotion drifted away as I made my way down the hall, left alone in unnerving silence. A deep-set uneasiness alerted me to a presence, if not human, than certainly musical. I could feel the music before I could hear it, so I tried to hum a jaunty tune that Nathanial had taught me to ward it off, and push away my fear. Instead, the quiet music sounded as expected, beginning to harmonize to my little ditty. I stopped walking completely, my feet unwilling to keep moving. I changed the tune to a more modern piece, and soon enough, the haunting music did the same, new harmonies unfolding to encompass my new song. Though I appeared outwardly calm, all my senses were heightened with fear, my breathing quickened along with my heart rate. My hands clenched into fists, I tried to summon anger to overcome the fear.

"Enough! I'm tired of your torments! Just tell me what you want, or go away!" The words were forced, I had to push them out of my mouth like a skydiver with second thoughts. The music abruptly stopped, which only unnerved me more.

"_Do you still think I do not exist_…?" A voice called to me so softly that I wasn't sure that I had even heard it, thinking my brain was messing with me. But the music began again, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose, my breathing became more hurried. I stood rigid for a second longer, officially "making my stand" against the presence, my eyes darting around the hallway trying to identify it. _He's real—he's real!_ Where the only thoughts that clung to my brain. My will gave out, I ran, pelted through the hall as though my skirts were on fire. Slamming the door and locking it behind me, I buried my head under my pillows, feeling like I was once again five years old scared by a monster in my closet_. Behind that door…another kind of monster is there. A Phantom. It's true. My God…It's all true…_I sat up forcibly, squeezing my eyes shut to shove away my fear._ No! It's _impossible_! …But I'm awake. Wide awake, no dream. I just heard what they made me believe, it's not real…It's a prank. Someone's screwing with me! _I grabbed onto any explanation I could._ What the hell! It has to be a prank. But the music…that breath-taking music…_I shivered to myself, groaning. _Some mutated crazy man with a "death's head" is stalking me, what the fuck_! _If not a Phantom, then at least some warped guy with a perverted need to mess with people's minds. _I reviewed my current frustrations, the inexplicable events that had been occurring. _He's just fucking with me, trying to get to me, to prove he's real! This is so crazy, I must be insane myself for believing it…_ Even as terrifying as the Phantom in the novel had been, I refused to be pushed around, victimized. I had had enough of that in my other life, and I sure as hell wasn't going to allow it in this one. _Even if this isn't a dream, I can control this. 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger'! And if there is a Phantom out there, he's going to learn not to mess with a woman from 2007! It's a new fucking millennium, baby!_


	11. What A Fool

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

11

"What a Fool…"

_What am I doing?_ The thought had been echoing through his head the whole evening. He had removed any shadow of a doubt about his existence to the girl…_But was it for the best? I am falling victim to my old ways, the ways of the Phantom. I am not that person anymore_, _but she needed to be silenced_. Despite the perfectly viable rationalization, he felt slightly guilty, an emotion that he had been experiencing far too often as of late. Another feeling joined it though, something he had not felt before in another person. A corner of his lips turned upward, a secreted smile. _Almost proud of the girl though…no one has ever demanded an explanation from the Phantom, they normally just run right from the beginning. She had at least stood her ground for a little while. How interesting_.

Frigid air broke over his face as gusts carried in a cold front. He sat hunched over atop a winged gargoyle, one of the highest points on the roof of the Opera Populaire, where he could see the entirety of Paris. Beneath him lay his domain, his kingdom that he had ruled as Phantom with an iron fist, bending the hapless performers and their managers to his will. Though he was no longer the Phantom, the power was still comforting, reassuring. _I have always needed power, control_… _Out there, though…Out there lies a world I can never even be a part of. What would I have if I try? Hate, fear, anger, that is all that would meet me. I would never know this power again…Power. Control. Is that what keeps me, the thirst for power? Or fear_? Though the former was appealing, he knew it to be the latter. His fingers brushed up against deformed, sensitive skin. _I never had any when I was out there, I was victim to all. They had power over me, it was deemed acceptable to beat me, cage me…treat me like I was not human at all. I hoped in the Opera Populaire to escape, to be accepted, but no one did. No one saw my potential, my abilities, only my face...Giry felt sorry for me, pitied me, she helped, she had kept my secret...Until she betrayed me, showing that ignorant fool the way into my home!_

A hot spitting anger began to once again rise, he forced it back down, but continued to prod the emotional sore spot. _Christine…Why couldn't she love me, accept me? Why did she have to look at me the way everyone else did, with horror? I loved her as no other could, I saw no flaws, she was _perfect_. My beam of sunlight to raise me out of hell. She was Aphrodite, Isis, Freyja. Beauty in its most pure form. The pinnacle of all that human life can be—beautiful in every way. _A quote from "Twelfth Night" surfaced_. "Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable beauty…"I__ merely wanted to harness that beauty, keep it, control it. Why could I not keep it? All I wanted was to keep her, my beauty, my perfection_…_But once again, I was rejected, betrayed by human kind. She represented the best of the world, and even the best would not see me for all that I am. Perhaps I really am nothing_. His mood continued to darken along with the evening sky, the sunlight fading in an array of reds, golds, and purples._ Darkness. We are reunited once again...Look at me. Hiding in the dark, too afraid to even leave the Opera Populaire. What a fool I've become…_

o o o o o

Swathed in lavender silk, lace, and pearls, Christine de Chagny sat, delicate gloved hands folded in her lap, staring, but not seeing, out the window at the French countryside. Her thoughts had been muddled recently, now that the excitement of her marriage had passed, her life seemed relatively dull compared to what it was at the Opera Populaire. Raoul had been true to his word, he had often taken her to the opera, and there she had felt the familiar thrill of the stage that had so inspired her in Paris. But then they would return to the villa and her depression would, like always, settle back in again. Although she would never let him know, she longed to be back on the stage, lifting her voice to the urgings of the audience and her Angel. She hadn't sung since leaving him, she found that she couldn't. _My Angel…nothing more than a monster, a Phantom…_It had been more painful than she had thought, leaving her Angel of Music. She had thought, at the time, that he stood between her and the life she craved. A life of comfort and happiness. A life of comfort _was_ a life of happiness. Now that she was living it, though, surrounded by wealth and beauty, she realized that she still wasn't happy. _He made me a star…I was never strong enough for it, but he believed in me, so I did it…_She had known that she was not meant to be the diva that La Carlotta had been, or even a diva at all. But her Angel had wanted the best for her, and had given her everything so she could have the best. _He gave me my voice…how I have wasted it here_._ My Angel, what has become of me? What has become of you?? Where are you now…No. It was the adult decision. I had to think of my future, and I will never be on the streets, I will never be without security and safety now. My Angel could not keep me safe, could not keep a roof above my head or food on the table. He could only give me my voice…_She tried to squash the next thought that came to the top of her mind, but failed miserably. _But he also gave me his love…._The thought gave her chills, she had been so afraid, afraid of everything.

Her Angel had an intensity that had terrified her, at the end, she had felt like she would be entirely consumed by it. She had thought at the time it was another trap, another way she would be controlled and confined. Christine had been passive since the death of her father, her life had spiraled out of control the day he died. She had been moved to the Opera Populaire at only seven years old, frightened of everything, especially of what would become of her. She barely had hung on at the opera house, her talent was mediocre, her dancing plain, ungraceful. Madame Giry had done what she could with Christine, giving her special attention to keep her in the opera house. The woman had been a life-long friend of her fathers, and had come to care for Christine as a second daughter. Providing her with as safe a home as she could, she drilled Christine constantly and firmly to ensure she kept her place. Then her Angel had started singing in her head…glorious tunes that breathed into her a sense of wonder and inspiration that she had never before felt in her young life. Though friends with Meg, Christine felt out of place, picked on by the other ballet girls for her lack-luster skill at the dance. Her Angel seemed to understand, providing her with the same encompassing comfort that her father had once given her. She had loved him for that, never knowing the monster that he truly was. _The monster that he is…My Angel. How could you? How could you be the same creature that preyed us? On me?_ She delicately furrowed her brow, her eyes glazed over, not seeing the sun push in and out of the clouds through the windows. _He never harmed me…never._ Tears brimmed her eyes as she continued to think on him, she had convinced herself, with Raoul's help and everyone else's fear, that he was the enemy, the menace. Now, seated completely alone in her husband's elegant library, that idea began to unravel. _He just wanted me, he loved me…Loved me more than anything, even more than Raoul loves me. He must have been so alone…_She felt a harsh pain of guilt, subtle jabs had been striking her since she had left him in his tunnels, alone and empty. _What have I done? Angel…_

She shook her head to dismiss the thought. She loved Raoul, she told herself, and knew that when it came down to a life with the Phantom of the Opera and the Vicomte de Chagny, the better choice was obvious. Raoul had offered her everything, the Phantom could offer nothing. _I could not love him…I could not. His face…and how he lived! I—I could not do that, I could not stay in the darkness for the rest of my life. No, I have made the right decision. I have. Raoul loves me, I love Raoul. _Doubt pricked at her, she ignored it._ I was so afraid, so confused. And he lied to me, he said he was an angel. The Angel of Music that Father sent me. Father…Father, what should I do?_

When she was younger, she had truly believed that he was the Angel that her father had sent, the angel her father had promised her. _Father promised me…Father promised me…How could this happen? _Growing up, she had always seen him as an extension of her father, one of the reasons she had obeyed so readily_. And that voice_…She had truly believed in his divinity, his voice had seemed not of this earth. When he had claimed to be the angel she had so hoped for, she had eagerly accepted it. And for the life she had, a mere chorus girl struggling to stay in the ballet, he had offered her what seemed greatest gift in all the world. He had given her what she needed to succeed in her life at the theater, and she had been exceedingly grateful.

The gratitude, though, didn't extend to the feelings he had begun to express. She had loved him, but as her father, her protector and guardian. Her Angel's behavior, though, had grown very strange once Raoul had noticed her. He was angry, she knew, and forbade her several times from seeing Raoul. The young lord was sweet to her, paying her attention the opposite sex never had before. He had bathed her in gifts, taken her out, said the sweetest and most charming things…The fact that she had known him as a child encouraged her to keep seeing him as well, he was comforting and reminded her of a happier time, when her father was still alive. When her Angel began to act irrational, lashing out needlessly she thought, at Raoul, she had become frightened, pulling away from him. _And then he captured me…showed me what he really was…A Phantom._ She shivered at the memory, recalling that she had never once been afraid, only enraptured. Entranced. Even clothed all in black, a white half-mask over his face, his presence was dominating. Used to being told what to do, of obeying his voice, she had accepted his hand, allowing him to lead her below. He had used that divine voice to keep her ensorcelled, for a while she had still thought him to be an angel. The next morning the fantasy had worn away, and she truly saw him, stripping him of the white mask. He was exposed, his face and his true self, she had realized the truth. He had raged at her then, terrifying her for the first time. _His face…his horrifying face…_She cringed, remembering. But she had realized as he crawled to her, as a man, not an angel, that he was more afraid than she was, afraid that she would flee him once seeing his face. Struck by uncomfortable compassion, she had handed his mask back to him, but had decided, at that very moment, that she must escape her Angel. He was a danger now, no longer divine, but mortal, human. He was not her father, nor had he ever been. _He was right to fear my seeing his face, it was so horrible. A face of a monster._

He had tried to contact her after that as the Angel, but she had fled him each time, eventually taking to spending nights with other dancers to avoid him. He could not call to her in front of others generally, and he eventually, she had thought, gave up, forgetting her. Raoul had continued to court her, and strangely lonely without her Angel, she had accepted him, feeling that she once again needed a guardian and protector. She was aware of Raoul's flaws, he never believed what she said or took him seriously. When she had told him of her Angel, he hadn't believed her, laughing outright at her.

At the masquerade, though, she had realized that he had not forgotten her, and how sorely mistaken she was. Even worse, he officially announced his presence by showing himself, giving up on mere rumors, ominous "accidents", and notes to keep control. He had marched right down the Grand Staircase, radiant and terrifying as Red Death, a glorious but certain threat. He had spoken to her, and staring into his mortal, cloudy green eyes, she had thought for a moment that she had understood him, understood his love for her and everything he would give her if she only accepted him. _And I wanted to_. She remembered the flush of excitement that had passed through her, the need to be near him, seeing him as not a threat, not a monster, not an angel. A man, a real man that promised her everything with his eyes. But then he had seen the ring.

It was at that moment that their destiny had formed. _"Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!!"_ She still could hear his rasping, enraged voice, so different from every other time he had spoken to her. He had ripped the necklace, her engagement ring, from her chest, frightening her more than ever before. She saw him as a real threat now, the anger in his eyes, the hate, the madness, made her realize she was in danger. He would not let her go, not ever.

Now thinking back on that moment, Christine sincerely wished that something else had happened, he had said anything else. _If he had said then that he loved me, had not scared me so…_She wouldn't allow herself to think it any further, knowing it would lead her to thoughts she could not admit to. Thoughts that would shame her, shame her marriage to Raoul.

It was that fear, that misunderstanding, that had sent her securely into Raoul's arms. She had conveniently forgotten the years of devotion the Angel had given her, the years of loyalty and worship, how he had trained her from a talent-less nothing to a star prima donna. _I was so afraid, so confused, weak…I just wanted to be protected. Raoul seemed safer…The Angel was no longer my guardian, but a curse. _She remembered being brought down the second time, this time dragged by a devil instead of led by an angel. His ravaged face, the pain stretched across it, the sorrow, she would never forget, it haunted her dreams. He had forced her to change into a wedding dress, slamming a flower crown onto her head. Madness sparkled in those cloudy green eyes, the part of his face that she had once trusted, before she realized what he truly was. He was beyond understanding at this point, blaming her resistance on his face. She was beyond understanding as well, poisoned into thinking he was a monster. His face and actions only supported the belief, he was completely insane with desperation and need to keep her. _Had I but realized, had I but known..._

_ "This haunted face holds no horror for me now…it's in your soul that the true distortion lies." _She had said that to him, wounding him more deeply than anyone else ever could. His face was horrible, but it was the insanity in those eyes that frightened her most, what she had thought was a warped, monstrous soul behind them. She had not understood, she now knew. It was not distorted, merely tortured, suffering from more pain than any other. But she had not realized at that time, and her words had driven him to his breaking point. Raoul had come to save her then, though her Angel, she knew even then, would never harm her. It was Raoul's presence that had been the final straw. Raoul was everything that the Angel never was, his polar opposite. Raoul had been given everything in life, was loved and adored by all. And, he was handsome._ The Angel must have hated him so, if only Raoul had not arrived! I still would have tried to flee from him, perhaps, but the Angel would not have tried to kill him, might have released me. ...He would have remembered, remembered compassion, understanding. And perhaps I would have to. It would have been so different…And I would not be here. _

"Christine?" She blinked out of her thoughts, awoken by a familiar voice. Turning, she beamed at her husband, hoping that he wouldn't be able to read in her eyes the guilt that she felt, thinking of his rival. He wanted to pretend that the Opera Populaire had never existed, and always was irritated when she spoke of it.

"Raoul, darling," He knelt in front of where she was seated, taking her hands in one of his, touching her cheek lightly with the other. Smiling gently, he stared up at her. She couldn't help it, a blush crept over her face, and his eyes darkened slightly.

"You've been thinking of it again. Thinking of him," It wasn't a question, nor an accusation. _He knows me too well, understands me too deeply…_In a way that pleased her, but at the same time, she was never able to keep secrets from him. In a marriage, it was said, there should be no secrets. But Christine knew that was false. _Some secrets are necessary_…Her eyes fell from his harsh gaze. She had been thinking on her former tutor too often lately, and Raoul knew of it.

"I'm sorry Raoul, it was just a passing memory…" He shushed her quietly, touching the tip of his finger to her lips.

"Do not worry, dearest. Just remember. He loved control, not you. He loved possessing you because you represented everything he could not have. He did not know you as I do, he did not even know who you are." She nodded, having to agree_. He is right. My Angel loved me for my voice and for my beauty, he knew nothing of my heart. He proved that by trying to force me to love him_…She forced the thoughts. By the end, she had believed that, and he was terrifying in his passion for her. _Things might be different now, but I still could not have stayed with him, could I? His darkness would have overwhelmed me. I am not strong enough, I needed a world of light, of joy, of comfort. Here I have everything. Raoul has offered me the world, I do not need what the Angel could give me anymore. _The thought hurt, but she made herself think it, made herself believe it. _I have a new life. Here. With Raoul. I am Christine de Chagny, no longer Christine Daae. _

o o o o o

It must have been nearly four in the morning when he retreated back into the Opera Populaire, his mind muddled, thick with dark emotions. His thoughts touched on the managers, they were gone for the evening, their office locked up. Though they blatantly denied his presence to the staff, which currently suited him as he did not want them pursuing him, but also kept them interested in him. He had heard the rumors that the reward for any information on him had increased. Drastically. _I wonder what those two fools are about…Surely there is a reason for the increase…_His lips drawn into a thin line, he decided that it would be necessary to search the office for information. _They would only increase the bounty if they believed me real, and that could be dangerous. I need to know what they are planning. _Ducking through a series of passages through the gut of the Opera Populaire, he appeared before the managers' office. His hand sliding to a pocket on the inside of his cloak, he pulled out a lock pick and deftly broke into the office.

Moonlight streamed in through decorative windows, illuminating the cluttered office. The former Phantom scowled at the piles of papers, mess of notes and letters strewn about on every surface. Purposely forgetting his own slovenly chambers, he cursed the managers for their incompetence and began to dig through the papers. _Music notes, bills, receipts, letters from "delighted" opera-goers, all of this is useless!_ Dashing a stack of letters to the ground, he was about to give up in frustration when the crest imprinted on the sealing wax of a letter on the floor caught his eye. Scooping it up, he thumbed the wax, eyes narrowing, contempt rising. _I know this seal…it is that fool boy's crest!_ Practically ripping the letter open, his eyes scanning the curling script of the nobleman, currently still the Opera Populaire's patron. _He rambles…Why he bothered to stay the patron of this god forsaken place is beyond me_…Suddenly, his eyes caught at a paragraph.

…_Though my wife and I are currently away from the Opera Populaire, her demons still haunt her, I can see them in her eyes. She thinks of her terrifying devil of a tutor often, and shakes with the fear of him. Though I believe him to be dead, sincerely hope him to be, she does not believe it so, having absolute faith in his resourcefulness and reluctance to do what would please us most, to die. The Opera Populaire, though I am delighted to continue to fund, is costing me an exorbitant sum to rebuild. Despite this, I am more than willing to deliver more funds to you if you would oblige me in raising the price of the bounty on our dear "Phantom's" head. I would very much like to see my wife happy, and I fear that as long as he lives, she will be tormented by memories of him. _

_Regards,_

_Vicompte Raoul De Chagny_

Though his anger was generally well controlled, his rage boiled over, and with a roar of fury, he crumpled the letter. Grabbing hold of the corner of a desk, he flipped it, anger fueling him. _This is why he stays on! To demand my death! To demand it for the sake and peace of mind of the _only_ human being I have ever dared love! He hides away while bribing others to do away with me_! Fuming, he continued to trash the office, flipping more furniture, hurling chairs across the room with wrathful snarls. Sudden fatigue gripped him, he sank to the ground in utter despair. _She wishes me dead. She is frightened by even the memory of me. She wishes me dead so she can live happily with her prince…why? I have done nothing to her, asked nothing of her…I leave her in peace. I live here alone, only wanting to stay alive. She has everything she could have wanted, and I have nothing. Why does she still wish my death? Is life itself to much to ask?_ His hands trembling, breath short, he wobbled to his feet_. I…cannot think on this now. Someone will have heard. _Scanning the massacred office, he took his flight.


	12. A Mischief Maker Indeed

12

"A Mischief Maker Indeed"

"Everyone! Attention please!" Workers, performers alike, all hired by the Opera Populaire, amassed in front the Grand Staircase, the atmosphere muggy with whispers of speculation at the managers' announcement. Of course, most were of the opinion that the topic was the "Phantom", the mysterious ghost always seemed to be the center of everyone's attention. I, for one, was annoyed by the whole situation. After my own "visit", I had been apprehensive. But nothing again had happened since then, and as the days passed, I began to doubt that it had even happened either. The logical side of my brain instructed me that it was impossible, and entirely unlikely. _I was extremely tired…I probably just imagined the whole thing…_I had mentioned it to Kathryn, and she had laughed outright. I was "getting caught up in the rumors. Honestly, Gwen, y' were the last I thought would be preachin' 'bout the Phantom…". _She's right, of course. Everyone's imaginations are running away with them. Mine too._ She stood beside me now, translating to me under her breath.

"Now then! It has come to our, Firmin and my, attention that gossip has been going around about an "Opera Ghost". Let me first inform you all that this is nothing but nonsense. A legend here at the Opera Populaire that the occasional trickster likes to take advantage of. I know, though, that theaterfolk are notoriously superstitious, and reassuring you simply is not enough. So, in order to discover what truly happened the evening of the 19th, and to assuage all of your worries, we have hired an inspector. Everyone, I would like to introduce Mssr. Fauvre, an extremely well-regarded captain in the French military, we were of course delighted when Mssr. Fauvre accepted our invitation to sort out this nonsense," A short, stocky man with a suspicious leer and a strange way of walking like he was leading with his face, gave a slight nod to the crowd. "He will be about the Opera Populaire for the next few weeks. Please assist him in any way you can, and do not get in his way. Thank you very much." Andre gave the crowd a curt bow, Firmin behind him mirroring the gesture. Firmin wrapped his fingers around the inspector's shoulder, leading him as they made their way to the managers' office. The crowd was suddenly abuzz with talk, some happy and relieved, others worried that the inspector's presence would annoy the Phantom, bringing his wrath down upon them. I merely shrugged. Kathryn grabbed at my wrist as we walked away, leading me to the opposite side of the crowd. There she made a bee line towards Nathaniel, his face dark with worry.

"People here are so ridiculous, there is no Phantom just as there are no goblins or ghoulies. Now they hire an Inspector? Utter nonsense, foolishness. If everyone would just stop gossiping long enough to concentrate on their jobs, there would be no problem." My lips thinned into grim agreement.

"Self-fulfilling prophecy, huh? Constantly act like life or a ghost is out to get you and things always seem to go wrong? Maybe…" My thoughts strayed once again to my "visit". '_Do you still think I do not exist…?_' His whisper of a voice echoed in my head again and I angrily tried to repel the thought.

"It is a bit silly, everyone lettin' their fears run away with 'em. But as for the managers, they might be right in hirin' an Inspector. There may not be a ghost about, but certainly some sort of prankster or mischief maker. I 'eard that they discovered their office in complete disarray this mornin', and one of the seamstresses told me this mornin' tha' she and everyone else in 'er wing heard shriekin' and crashin' in the middle of the night," Kathryn's voice had dropped to a conspiratorially low volume.

"Shrieking?" Nathaniel repeated, pondering the concept.

"Yep, she said it sounded like a man." _The voice I heard was defiantly male…no. No. It's too crazy_. Nathaniel clucked his tongue, reviewing the events.

"I've never heard of a ghost that destroys an office. A mischief maker indeed."

o o o o o

He had been almost amused when word of the Inspector had reached him. _So the fools were true to their word, they hired another fool to hunt me down…Ha! Let him try_. He had not truly expected the managers to do something so aggressive, the fools tended prefer to ignore problems rather than attempt to solve them. The bounty had increased exponentially, as he predicted it would…_but an Inspector? I never should have gone into that office. _He had been disdainful of the man at first, but within a few days since his arrival, Fauvre instead was proving himself to be quite an irritation. _The man is not as much a fool as I had thought, if somewhat of a lech_… The Inspector seemed more able than he had anticipated, and with a harsh ferocity that seemed to define the man, pursued his goal. _The only thing the man pursues other than evidence of my existence is the women…_Fauvre obviously enjoyed women, and when he wasn't "on the case", he attempted to bait the chorus girls and ballet rats with oily charm. _I wonder what interests him most about this case, the bounty or the young girls?_ Glaring down at the man, the former Phantom observed the Inspector muttering charm under his breath in the ear of a ballet rat, who, to his disgust and the Inspector's obvious delight, must have been only about fifteen years old. _Vile bastard…at least Christine was an adult_. The thought brought a sharp stab of guilt muddled with sorrow. _My affections were far different than this man's…I might not have pursued her honorably, but I would have _never_ harmed her…_His eyes caught on the Inspector's tight grip on the girl's wrist, she squirmed with restrained discomfort. His ire built as the Inspector continued to manhandle the girl, but when voices called from backstage alerting the approach of others, he abruptly released her. Wringing her wrist, he caught the barely audible gasp she emitted when she realized it was bruising. Growling under his breath, his eyes followed the Inspector leave the room towards the entrance hall, Fauvre's hard expression signaling he was back on the case.

The man was headed towards the managers' office, undoubtedly to collect the police accounts on the night of the disaster that he had been shuffling through earlier. It was surprising how quickly he had flung himself into the case. He had started with the accounts of the police and witnesses, and then began interviewing former employees of the Opera Populaire that were still around, trying to sap truths from the multitudes of rumors that focused on the Phantom. Despite the fear, many of the ensemble had returned as there were few mediums in which they could employ their skills. He did not limit himself to only them, though, he grilled current employees too, hoping to get something from them as well. These interviews, the silent observer noted, were perfectly reasonable excuses for Fauvre to connect himself to the young girls. He had not forced himself on a young woman yet, but as the watched Inspector shuffled through the papers, the watcher knew that it would be only a matter of time. _The man is positively contemptible, he has left bruises and marks on other girls, and only becomes more intent when they attempt to refuse him. _The Inspector was reviewing a list, no doubt of his next interview. Clucking his tongue, his thick brow arched, he checked off the next victim.

"Gwendolyn Shepherd."


	13. A Ghost, A Phantom, Whatever

13

"A Ghost, A Phantom, Whatever"

"What are you so upset about?" Nathaniel's voice cut through my thoughts as I brutally churned the laundry, working the suds into the cloth with as much force as I could.

"I can't make our lesson tonight, Nat. I have my "appointment" with the good Inspector," He smiled weakly at my biting sarcasm, but his eyes darkened. Leaning against the frame of the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, he watched me viciously beat the laundry in order to vent my frustration.

"Interesting…the man hardly ever calls on the men here. And the way he talks to some of the women…I've seem the bruises on the dancers, just as everyone has," He strode over, grabbing the pole I was using to stir the wash. "Gwen. Don't go." Pulling it from him, I snorted.

"Believe me, I wouldn't if I had a choice. But Andre and Firmin insist that everyone 'help the Inspector in his investigation'," I stopped stirring to stare into his worried eyes. "I have no choice. But I will _not_ let him touch me." The tenor only nodded, dropping his eyes to hide the fear in them.

- - -

Irritation at missing my favorite thing to do in the week, my lessons with Nathaniel, mixed with a curdling anxiety in my stomach as I approached the Inspector's office. _Just get it over with. If he tries anything, I'll break his fucking face._ My thoughts, strong and confident, did not reflect my inner feelings, but I pretended they did. Catching my breath, I knocked at his door. It swung open, the stocky form of the Inspector lingered in the doorway.

"Gwendolyn Shepherd?" His strongly accent voice barked my name, I felt dirty just hearing it. I nodded, he led me to a chair in front of a massive oak desk and then shut and locked the door. Barking out another question in French, he waited for an answer. _Maybe once he hears that I don't speak French, he'll leave me alone._

"Forgive me, Monsieur, but I don't speak French. Only English." He gave me an oily smirk, settled back into his leather chair.

"English, mam'selle? How fortunate for both of us that I speak English quite well." _Fortunate. Right_.

"Yes, how fortunate." He slicked his stubby fingers over his mustache, eyeing me. I resisted my urge to fidget, my shoulders thrown back, my eyes meeting his with every air of confidence I could muster.

"Shall we get to business, then? How long have you worked here at the Opera Populaire?"

"Since the twentieth of October, Monsieur."

"What is your current position here?"

"I am part of the clean-up crew. I polish, scrub, dust, wash…anything I am assigned."

"Ah, I see. Mam'selle, many of the employees here have heard or experienced some sort of phenomena that they attribute to a mysterious presence they have named 'The Phantom of the Opera'. I am curious, have you experienced any such occurrences yourself?"

"No Monsieur. None at all," I stared at him unblinkingly, feeding him a bold-faced lie. Though I was no supporter of the Ghost, especially since my "visit", I felt far more threatened by Fauvre, and I certainly wasn't going to help him. _Maybe if he doesn't get enough real information, he'll give up…_It was wishful thinking, but I clung to hope in it. _The Phantom might be bad, but Fauvre is worse_.

"No? None at all?" Something in his eyes changed, he leaned over his desk towards me, smiling unpleasantly. "Mam'selle, many young ladies have been frightened by this apparition. It would be best, for us all, that we are able to capture him, do you think?" I pulled away from him in my seat, thankful that the desk was still between us.

"Many things frighten young ladies, Monsieur. But I do not believe that a ghost, 'Phantom', whatever, is currently the _greatest_ threat to their well-being." He recoiled slightly, eyes narrowing dangerously as he took in my implied insult. His response was low, hushed.

"Yes, many things indeed _can_ threaten a young lady. Especially one who is not honest and does not speak the truth…" _How does he know_? I hoped my face gave nothing away, I stared at him blandly, forcing myself to sit up straight and not flinch away from him. He suddenly shot up out of his seat, stretching across the desk, gripping one of my arms in violent anger. I refused to cry out, wince away, beg to be released. My expression, though, flexed into a mask of cold fury, my eyes digging into his. _I wish looks could kill. _

"I do not believe you have been honest with me, Mam'selle Shepherd. I believe you know something that you are not telling me."

"I know nothing that is of any consequence to you, Monsieur. I would ask you to release my arm." My words quiet, soft with what I hoped was a fearsome edge, must have given the desired affect, as he let go of my arm. He leaned back, standing, and began to pace the room, in front of the only exit.

"Do not misunderstand me, my dear, if you are withholding information that may be vital to my case, I _will_ obtain it. Of this you may be certain. I have a high position in the French police force, while you are an ignorant foreigner with no rights. If I wished it, I could throw you in prison to rot right now for suspected obstruction. You see, this is more than just a case to me," He paused in his steps, and then closed the distance between us, seizing the arms of my chair and jerking it around so that he leaned over me imposingly. "This will be the case, Mam'selle, that will finally get me the position I have desired for over ten years. This might come as a surprise to you, but the Opera Populaire is quite famous within the force. Yes, the mystery of an 'Opera Ghost' has lured many officers trying to make names for themselves. The catastrophe last month is not the only fatal mishap that has occurred here. No, there have been several mysterious deaths before…men hanging by ropes from the flies, some stabbed, some even shot. This building," He stepped away from me, lifting his hands towards the ceiling in an effort to make a dramatic effect, "has been the haven of the lower class trash for decades. It is no surprise to me that these incidents have occurred. It is as natural for you street garbage as breathing. But, the catastrophe last month was beyond anyone's imagination, and certainly beyond the capabilities of common scum. The perpetrator, I believe, is some sort of terrorist, and a sociopath besides. So you see, catching the infamous 'Phantom' will elevate me to the rank I deserve, and that is why it is absolutely necessary for me to know what you know!" He finished in a shout, storming over to me with malice promised in his eyes. My gaze touched the floor, and then levelly met his. Inhaling deeply, I tried to think of something that would placate him, and extract me from this situation.

"I understand your plight, Inspector. And I implore you to believe me when I say I know nothing that would be any relevance to you and your case. All I have heard are rumors, which are filled with exaggerations and inconsistencies. If you insist, I could rattle off a few, I'm sure, but I do not think that is what you want. I have no hard evidence, only gossip," I stood, hoping dearly that he wouldn't try to stop me from leaving. "I do not appreciate your threats, Inspector, as I have done nothing to harm you or your case. Now if you will excuse me," I made my way to the door, but he blocked it firmly with his body.

"Mam'selle, we are not finished—"

"Yes, Inspector, we _are_ finished. Now, move out of my way." Though my words were polite, they held an indescribable depth of coldness. _Please, please…I can't keep this up forever…_For some reason, the man suddenly seemed cowed, and moved aside. With as much dignity as I could muster, I swept out of the room, closing the door behind me. I strode confidently down the hall, around the corner, and down a few more corridors, terrified that he might follow. Ducking into a familiar room, the costume room, I collapsed into a heap of old costumes, tears that had been building behind my eyes falling loose. Embarrassed to let them fall even with no one around, I dashed them from my eyes, slapping my cheeks a little to revive my senses. _I want to go home_…

o o o o o

He shifted his weight in the skeleton of the wall of the Inspector's office, where he often watched, trying to get a better view of the scene before him. The walls in the Opera Populaire generally had just enough width for a thin man to fit through, the construction was loose and airy to help prevent fires. If too much gas were to fill a tightly-built room, there would be a higher risk of fires, even explosions, so the opera house was riddled with air tunnels and pockets. And over the years, they had become the perfect place for him to observe the happenings of the Opera Populaire. He shifted, peering through a crack in the wall and trying to get a little more comfortable. From this vantage point, he had watched all of the interviews, most of them boring him senseless. _But it is most wise to know what the enemy knows._ He watched the scene unfold before him more intently than with the others, though he hated to admit it, he found the redhead more interesting than any other. The firebrand was ushered into the office with a wave of the Inspector's hand, she seated herself in a chair in front of the desk. Apprehension was building in him, but she sat perfectly calm and collected. _Surely she is aware of the ways of this man_…The Inspector began to question her in English after she explained that she did not speak French.

"Ah, I see. Mam'selle, many of the employees here have heard or experienced some sort of phenomena that they attribute to a mysterious presence they have named 'The Phantom of the Opera'. I am curious, have you experienced any such occurrences yourself?"

"No Monsieur. None at all." His question was unsurprising, he asked all of them employees the same one. But her response caught his attention. Brow furrowing, he leaned closer to the minute crack in the paneling, attempting to see through it better by pressing his eye against it. _She does not tell him of anything? Even when I spoke to her? What is the meaning of this…? All the others absolutely spilled their guts to him_…

"No? None at all?…Mam'selle, many young ladies have been frightened by this apparition. It would be best, for us all, that we are able to capture him, do you think?" _He is trying his smarmy charm on her. Poisonous snake._

"Many things frighten young ladies, Monsieur. But I do not believe that a ghost, 'Phantom', whatever, is currently the _greatest_ threat to their well-being." He sucked in his breath as the Inspector snapped backward, eyes blazing. Holding in a chuckle, the former Phantom shifted, trying to see the sharp-tongued young lady.

"Yes, many things indeed _can_ threaten a young lady. Especially one who is not honest and does not speak the truth…" Obviously insulted, he attempted to threaten her. She did not oblige him in being intimidated, so he pounced across the desk to snatch her arm, his thick fingers digging into her flesh. The spectator hissed softly, his own fingers digging into the wood as he gripped at the wall. _If this wall were not here, I would rip him to shreds! How dare he touch her, any woman, with anger_! "I do not believe you have been honest with me, Mam'selle Shepherd. I believe you know something that you are not telling me,"

"I know nothing that is of any consequence to you, Monsieur. I would ask you to release my arm." She astonished him, sitting placidly in place while the Inspector crushed her arm. _I wish I could see her face…_She was seated with her back to him, he could only imagine the ferocity on her already fierce face. _Her language has changed as well…she attempts to fit in? To blend in with those fools?_ _Or to appear less conspicuous, perhaps?_

"Do not misunderstand me, my dear, if you are withholding information that may be vital to my case, I will obtain it. Of this you may be certain. I have a high position in the French police force, while you, are an ignorant foreigner with no rights. If I wished it, I could throw you in prison to rot right now for suspected obstruction. You see, this is more than just a case to me. This will be the case, Mam'selle, that will finally get me the position I have desired for over ten years. This might come as a surprise to you, but the Opera Populaire is quite famous within the force. Yes, the mystery of an 'Opera Ghost' has lured many officers trying to make names for themselves. The catastrophe last month is not the only fatal mishap that has occurred here. No, there have been several mysterious deaths before…men hanging by ropes from the flies, some stabbed, some even shot. This building has been the haven of the lower class trash for decades. It is no surprise to me that these incidents have occurred. It is as natural for you street garbage as breathing. But, the catastrophe last month was beyond anyone's imagining, and certainly beyond the capabilities of common scum. The perpetrator, I believe, is some sort of terrorist, and a sociopath besides. So you see, catching the infamous 'Phantom' will elevate me to the rank I deserve, and that is why it is absolutely necessary for me to know what you know!" She sat unflinchingly, his grand speech failing to impress her. The watcher considered his speech, trying to remember the instances in which operafolk were stabbed and shot. _I have never stabbed or shot anyone…he is referencing other deaths, yet they are blamed on me. Not that it is harmful to my image in any way, it only increases my fearsome reputation. _Still, it bothered him slightly that the firebrand would think him a murderer. _Twice I have killed in the Opera Populaire, once was more or less an accident, the other out of insanity…_

"I understand your plight, Inspector. And I implore you to believe me when I say I know nothing that would be any relevance to you and your case. All I have heard are rumors, which are filled with exaggerations and inconsistencies. If you insist, I could rattle off a few, I'm sure, but I do not think that is what you want. I have no hard evidence, only gossip. I do not appreciate your threats, Inspector, as I have done nothing to harm you or your case. Now if you will excuse me." She stood, marching to the door, but he blocked it. Emotions flashed over his face, the dominant one was anger.

"Mam'selle, we are not finished—"

"Yes, Inspector, we are finished. Now, move out of my way." She cut him off, fearlessly. The Inspector moved, sidling away from her and the door. He leaned back, slightly shocked. She held herself erect, striding out the door. The Inspector was left, stunned, confused, he was not expecting a woman he had threatened to stand up to him. Still somewhat in awe of her performance, the "ghost" clambered to get out of the wall to follow her, the firm click of her heels reverberating through the wooden planks of the floor and walls as she walked away. Dropping through a door in the ceiling of the hall, he followed the sound of her heels, careful not to get too close. After passing through several halls, the clicking stopped. _The costume room?_ She had buried herself in the back, soft sniffles alerting him of her presence. He slipped through racks of clothing, his eyes finding her crumpled in a pile of costumes. Tears leaked out of her eyes, she growled under her breath and wiped them away with the back of her hand. Watching her, he felt a vague wave of confusion, his first analysis of her character was crashing around him. As he did not often change his opinion of people, tending to always view them with the bias he created upon first impression, uncertainty flooded his senses. Though he wouldn't admit to it, he had been fairly impressed by her when she stood up to Fauvre, especially with his threats upon her. _Other women would cry and whimper, begging him to release them, only increasing his idea of power over them…Even Christine, superior Christine would have done the same. Christine…_He shook himself free of the thought of her, it caused him too much pain. He turned his attention back to the snuffling woman in the back._ Why did she not? It is not pride, as I originally would have thought, her confidence is not as strong as it appears._ An emotion he had never been acquainted with rose from within him, compassion, empathy. _She hides her true feelings, lets others only see a wall…That seems familiar_. Crouching in the costumes, he watched her until she regained her composure and left, head once again held high. Then, slipping through the large mirror hanging on the wall into one of his hidden passages, he allowed himself to recognize that he felt a new-found respect for her. _Perhaps all women are not what I thought…_


	14. Friendly Neighborhood Phantom

14

"Friendly Neighborhood Phantom"

I would have doubted that any day of the month could have been worse than a 19th, but somehow, the 18th seemed to be striving for it. Back-breaking labor coupled with endless rehearsals for Nathaniel, so I couldn't talk to him, and Kathryn's daughter being sick, so I couldn't talk to her…_Life hates me_. It didn't help that wherever I went, the Inspector's eyes were on me. All day, he seemed to find reasonable excuses to be in the same room with me all the time. I didn't know if he suspected me for something, just wanted to freak me out, or had other reasons, but his eyes never left me. His presence would have been reason enough for me to have been stressed, the others made it torturous.

Once, I paused to rest my back, hauling buckets of hot water seemed to be slowly telescoping my spine. Straightening up, I stretched, hoping to work out the kinks. Another wave of discomfort clawed at me, I glanced around to find the Inspector's eyes raking over my form. Shuddering, I quickly collected the buckets and hustled away as fast as the jostling water would let me without spilling.

The evening couldn't have come quickly enough, my body seemed to ache constantly, but today the pain was exceptional. _I need a hot bath_…Trying to ignore the flickers of pain that lanced through me every time I moved, I gathered up my toiletries for a trip to the bathrooms, one of the few rooms with water in the Opera Populaire. _Actually, I don't even care if it's hot…so long as it's wet and deep._ Exhaustion and the alluring vision of a relaxing bath caused me to be oblivious as I crossed my room, I almost didn't see the folded piece of paper on the floor as I swung open my door. Bending, I gawked as I recognized my own name scrawled gracefully on the back of the folded parchment. I hesitantly opened it.

_Mademoiselle Shepherd,_

_A ghost, Phantom, 'whatever', is _not_ the greatest threat to your well-being this evening. Lock your door tonight, our good Inspector roams the halls._

_Yours,_

_O.G._

I stared at the letter, blanching at my own words thrown back at me from a 'ghost'. _How…is this possible!?_ Blinking rapidly, I inhaled deeply and forced my nerves to relax, ignoring the prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Nodding decisively, I set the letter down on my bed and locked my door. _'…our good Inspector roams the halls…' A warning? From your friendly neighborhood Phantom, no doubt?_ _What the hell, this makes no sense…why would he warn me?_ I reread the letter several times, analyzing it to find every possible meaning in each word. Then, scowling, I tucked it under my mattress and blew out my candle. About twenty minutes of me lying awake thinking about the letter did nothing for my nerves, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will myself to forget it and go to sleep. The 18th, though, was obviously not done being cruel. Heavy footfalls in the hallway caused my eyes to snap open, my heart rate to quicken. The footsteps approached my door, then paused. Actual fear gripped me now, my senses heightened, adrenaline pumping. '…_our good Inspector roams the halls'!!!_ I heard my doorknob suddenly rattle, the whole door vibrated with the attempted intruder's efforts to force it open. My hands slapped over my mouth and I bit my tongue as I let out the softest whimper. The rattling stopped, the footfalls stomped away, faster this time. I was breathing so hard that I frantically worried that I wouldn't be able to hear him return. I sat up in bed, arms wrapped around me, my brain flashing every possible scenario of what might have happened had I not gotten the warning. _He tried to force his way in, he was going to hurt me…_I rocked myself for a few more minutes and lay back down, my eyes never leaving the door. I didn't feel safe at all, but was calming down. _He saved me…why?_

_- - -_

Footsteps pelting outside my door in the hall woke me, my strained, bloodshot eyes tearing open. I had hardly slept at all, my brain wouldn't let go of what could have been. That, and the flat out curiosity of why a man would go to the trouble of saving me when he seemed bent on making me crazy, kept me up. Laughing and screaming rang out, the ballet rats and chorus girls were up and excited. Giving the door a hearty grimace, I hauled my weary body out of bed to get washed up and dressed. Blinking into a compact mirror that came with some of my makeup, I surveyed my beaten appearance, and wished more genuinely than I ever had before, even with early organic chemistry classes, that I could just go back to bed. Scooping some water from my wash basin into my heads I scrubbed at my face. _No, the last thing I need today is to get my ass fired. Get up!_

The day I had been dreading since it rolled around last month was upon me, the 19th. I busied myself with putting on some clothing, trying my best not to think. If I thought, anything at all, somehow my retarded brain would trace it back to the day my life had fallen apart. It had revolved around him. There had been so much him that there was very little me. For years. The hardest part, I had realized at some point, was figuring out how to focus on me again, and relearn who I was. _I was unhappy with where my life was going in New York, in college. I wanted to just press the fast-forward button and get it all over with so I could really start my life. Josh seemed like a step in the right direction, the beginning to a new, better future. And, in the beginning, it was great, it was a partnership, both of us. Then…he seemed to lose interest, so I just tried harder, and harder to make it work. Eventually, I gave up myself and what I believed in entirely, thinking that he was right for me, and I just had to sacrifice more for him. I thought it would just get better, his work would cool down, I would get out of school, we'd get married, and it would be great again. I didn't know, or didn't want to know, that he was cheating on me. I was so focused on him that I forgot about me…It was so hard being single again, after that long. So strange, it felt like the protective bubble I was hiding in suddenly burst. This is so stupid, get a hold of yourself Gwen. Look how far you've come. Even if it's wobbly, you're at least standing on your own two feet. …In the past? _Appraising my clothing, I naturally reached for the most drab, weathered article, a strange perversion wanting to look the way I felt today. I forced myself to hesitate_. Time to break the cycle, Gwenny. Let's go for 'happy' today._ I grabbed a garment I had never warn before, finding it to be too bold for my line of work. The gown was of simple style and cut, but a vibrant shamrock green, sharply contrasting my auburn hair. Looking myself over in my little compact mirror, I gave my reflection a lopsided grin and a shrug. _At least I won't look boring_…Slipping on my shoes, I left in search of breakfast.

"Gwen! Look at you!" Kathryn grinned appreciatively, while Nathaniel gave up his breakfast to spin me around. "You look so…" I laughed aloud, Nathaniel continued to twirl me, singing loudly some ditty about colors that made up a rainbow.

"Stunning? Charming? Dazzling?" I chuckled, throwing out adjectives I knew were nowhere near the truth.

"Green!" Kathryn joined my laughter. "Not that it looks bad, mind…I've jus' never seen ya wear such a bright color!"

"Well, I need to do laundry…" I was a little embarrassed now, I didn't like to be noticed or to stand out. I always had my kind of shy moments, and though I always wanted to be different, special, I could never let myself. Gripping my waist, Nathaniel dropped me into a low dip, I gripped at his shirt for support in my surprise.

"Well I think you look lovely. Brings out the color in your cheeks and eyes," He gave my cheek a tweak, grinning broadly. I laughed again, but not out of embarrassment this time.

"Nat, my eyes are blue," I returned, he chuckled in response, and I suddenly felt a wave of homesickness. _Mom and I had nearly the same discussion…_Pulling me out of the dip, Nathaniel released me, only to be hugged by Kathryn. I had never been a touchy-feely sort of person, certainly not the hugging type. But, I squeezed her back, and pulled Nathaniel into the embrace. _This isn't home, and if I'm ever going to make it through this, through today, I need support. They are my support. My friends. _Breaking the group hug, I scanned the table they had been seated at when I entered.

"Breakfast?"


	15. A Good Guy?

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

15

"A Good Guy…?"

Despite the horrible night I had had, my day didn't actually go too badly. I was working in the auditorium today, and was delighted to hear the rehearsal. Despite the occasional note issue, entrance delay, or wobble in a harmony, the music was coming along very nicely, Nathaniel being the shining star. I was currently polishing the golden nude statues that decorated the room, everything was to be perfect for opening night, and apparently, "perfect" entailed that their unrealistically ideal bodies practically glow. I paused in my work to watch Nathaniel perform a solo, swiveling to get a better view of him. I noticed, in process, that, like always, Fauvre was lurking towards the back of the room. His gaze was focused intently on me, and although I wanted to shrink away until I lie flat enough on the floor so he could no longer see me, I held myself up_. He can stare all he wants. He can't do anything to me here. Not with all these people around_. His presence still made me queasy, but I utterly refused to allow him to ruin my quest in making _this_ 19th bearable. I turned my attention back to Nathaniel. His voice was beautiful, powerfully claiming the higher notes, dynamics coloring his words, texturing them with feeling. _He is so believable…he is just wonderful. Good looking too. I wonder if what Kathryn said is true. What were her words? He "fawned" over me? Heh…sure._ Continuing to consider him, I was zoned out when the conductor announced they would break in ten minutes. Snapping myself out of it, I pushed my cloth back into the polish only to realize I was nearly out. _I guess I'll get some more_…Marching out of the room, I paused again, wanting to hear his grand finish.

It took me a little while to find the polish, someone had moved it from its place in the entrance hall to the second floor. Bucket full, I returned to my post, discovering upon entry that the performers had all cleared out, props and pieces of set jumbled on the stage where they had been dropped. _They're taking a break_? I wondered idly what time it was as I set down my bucket_. Must be around eleven or twelve…Not that it matters, I'm wiped. I'll just do this one and finish the rest in the morning_. Plopping myself down before the statue again, I began to vigorously scrub the polish into it, then once a spot had been suitably scoured with the polish, I would wipe it away with a damp towel, leaving that spot gleaming. It was tedious work, my arms had put on a lot of muscle over the past month I had been here, and with this task, I needed it. Pausing, I smugly gripped the new muscle that had formed on my arm, the process of earning it had hardly been worth it, but I was still proud. Nearly finished when I had gone to get more polish, I completed the statue and then stood back to admire the product of my labor_. Four statues done today, another six to complete for tomorrow. Not really something to look forward to…_Stretching, I collected by buckets and rag to deposit them in a back room behind the stage. That done, I flipped a switch in the wings that controlled gas flow into lamps illuminating the theater hall, they dimmed and went out, leaving only a few lights left on in the room. With just enough light to see my way out, I strode across the stage, briskly trotting down the side stairs to leave for my bedroom. Humming softly, I stopped short as movement across the room flickered in the corner of my eye. Dead still, I felt the all-too-familiar wave of anxiety wash over my senses. A shadow continued to move in the back, getting closer. My hands gripping into fists, I called out to the form.

"Hello? Someone there?" The figure that moved into the light provided by a muted sconce was the last I ever wanted to see. '_A ghost, Phantom, 'whatever', is _not_ the greatest threat to your well-being this evening...' _The Inspector's unctuous smile transformed his normally severe face into probably an expression he thought was pleasant, perhaps even comforting. I thought it was hideous, dreadful, terrifying, and adrenaline built within me, I was ready to run.

"Good evening Mademoiselle Shepherd," He gave me a cordial nod of his head. I wasn't about to let him strike up a conversation or another "interview". During my first interview I had no idea how threatening the man could really be, but since last night…I was in no mood to find out.

"Good evening Inspector," I turned on my heel towards the stage again, I would rather go out of my way and use the exits in the back than to use the exits that were behind him.

"Gwendolyn," His harsh accented voice cut the tense air again, I wanted to keep walking away from him, my back was pricked by pins and needles just from his presence. I wasn't brave enough, though, to insult him by ignoring his call, so I paused, turning to look at him over my shoulder warily. "Gwendolyn," He repeated, approaching me. I hated the way my name sounded on his lips, and once again resisted the urge to flee. "I realize that I did not give you a proper impression yesterday, and I beg your forgiveness. Threats are given too freely in my line of work, you see," I held my face calm as he lightly placed his hand on my shoulder, his eyes black in the dim light. "I would like to request your help. Not anything difficult or time-consuming, just to be informed if you hear of anything that would be of service to me." Unable to speak, I merely nodded and attempted to pull away, but the hand on my shoulder became tighter. Black eyes harsh, he mercilessly watched as I flinched under his now vice-like grip. With his other hand he seized my forearm, and released my shoulder only to grab my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

"You are exceedingly beautiful, Gwendolyn. Especially in your pretty green dress…And despite your blatant ignorance and female superciliousness, I find you...interesting, indeed." He ripped my chin upwards for a brutal kiss just as I drew back my arm and thrust the heel of my hand into his nose, feeling the satisfying crunch as it broke beneath my hand. _NOT AGAIN, NEVER AGAIN!_ He cried out and stumbled back, I threw myself away from him. As he recovered, I turned to run, pelting down the carpeted aisles towards the stage. I heard cushioned stomps behind me, knowing he was right behind me.Adrenaline pumping through my veins, panic blurred my thoughts as I hurled myself onto the stage, rolling into a kneeling position. About to stand, I felt my support, my back foot, be pulled out from underneath me by a powerful hand. I slammed down into the stage, hitting my chin so hard against the wood I had spent so long polishing that I could have sworn I cracked my jawbone. Too dazed to feel pain, I flipped over onto my back, kicking. One of my flailing feet caught the side of his head, he lurched backwards. Unfortunately, the blow only enraged him further. He charged at me as I tried to scoot away from him. I couldn't see straight, my vision blurry, and almost blindly clawing at the floor to get away. _Concussion!? Not now!!!_ As I struggled to retain consciousness, he climbed onto the stage, blood dribbling down the side of his face where the toe of my boot had connected, and from his nose. In my blurred sight, he looked like the devil himself.

A dark shadow passed over the stage, a menacing blackened figure stood at the edge of the light. My attacker growled at the form in guttural slurred French, the figure's response so quiet I wasn't sure I had even heard it. The light kept threatening to fade away, and I realized that the last lanterns weren't dying, that my eyes were. I forced myself to stay conscious, watching. The Inspector leapt at the interloper, but the shadow of a man easily ducked, ramming his elbow into the back of the Inspector's head as he passed. He went down like a bag of bricks, his face smashing into the stage as he hit. The shadow rounded the man's unconscious body, and with a powerful kick, pushed it off the edge of the stage, dropping it into the pit. The figure stared over the edge to where the Inspector lay, and then whirled around to face me, cloak swirling malevolently. I tried to make sense of it all, my brain muddy. He strode towards me, heavy steps echoing. I attempted to push myself up, to drag my unresponsive body away. He was suddenly bending over me as I lay on my side, trying to still rouse myself enough to flee. One arm slipped beneath my lower shoulder, another gently but firmly gripped my chin, turning my loopy head to face him. I stared up at a face camouflaged by shadow, half of it highlighted by a stark white mask that reflected what little light was still in the theater. I remember feeling the hand let go of my face, slip under my deadened legs, and lift me up, my crumpled body pressed against a heavy chest as he carried me from the stage. _No denying it now, he's real…_My cloudy mind admitted as it turned off, too dizzy to be fearful. I laughed slightly to myself, the irony too much. _The Phantom, not only existing, but a good guy?_ _I hope so_, I thought as my brain shut down, _or I'm in trouble_…

o o o o o

_Another evening, another session of watching the Inspector prowl around my theater, searching for "clues"._ _The man is really beginning to irritate me_…The rehearsal being over for the day, he was preparing to leave when the skulking form of the Inspector caught his eye. The man had seated himself and was jotting down notes when the audible click of the theater hall's doors sounded again, heralding the arrival of another. _The girl!_ Startled, his gaze swing back to the Inspector, who was now standing, his eyes hanging dangerously on her form. She went about her business, taking no notice of the man's presence as she started scrubbing again. She hummed lightly to herself, both mens' eyes stayed with her as she finished and made her way to the stage to put away her things. Flipping the switch to turn off the lights, she made her way to the exit, still humming. As the former ghost watched, the Inspector stood, drawing closer to the lone woman in the room. The observer felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise as he watched the man creep towards her. She caught sight of him and abruptly stopped her progression towards the door.

The evening before, the former Phantom had discovered the man roving the halls, seemingly searching. Remembering the dead intent in the Inspector's eyes, he had written a fast note to the expected prey of the man's hunt, the firebrand. _Gwendolyn…An honor, you will receive my first and hopefully last note since…that night_. He hadn't wanted to write it, it was only proof that he was still present, and he certainly didn't want to supply the Inspector with something credible. But he felt the need was more pressing, she needed the message and it would have been unwise to go in person. _I will have to rely on her dislike for Fauvre that she will not give him the note…Though I have never given her reason to grant me any favors_…

The very same look of intent was on Fauvre's face again, and now he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with angry anxiety. Fauvre continued to advance on the girl, calling out to her. _What in the nine circles of Hell does he think he is doing!? _Fauvre called her name, touching her lightly on the shoulder. Disguised in the darkness of Box Five, the silent observer approached the railing to get a better view. Though he could not clearly see her face, her posture gave away her discomfort as the Inspector spoke to her. _He is trying to reason with her, lure her in with soft words and apologies._ He bristled, muscles tensed, as he leaned over the railing. She attempted to pull away from him. _Just get away from him!_ Held by the horrible scene, he watched as the Inspector prevented her from leaving, grabbing her face.

"You are exceedingly beautiful, Gwendolyn. Especially in your pretty green dress…But despite your blatant ignorance and female superciliousness, I find you...interesting, indeed." Fauvre's intent clear, the former predator dashed out of the Box to stop the malicious man. He burst through the doors in time to watch her thrust her fist up into his nose, and with a gurgled cry, Fauvre stumbled backwards. She had fallen to the ground, and shoved herself up to escape. Running as fast as she could, she made it to the edge of the stage before the Inspector caught her.

His teeth gritted with hardly suppressed rage, he pelted down the aisles towards the aggressor and his vulnerable victim. The firebrand, true to her name, though, proved herself not entirely helpless, even after cracking her head on the stage. Warding her attacker off with a flurry of kicks, she tried to escape once more. But as he approached, it became painfully obvious that if he hadn't involved himself, she would have fallen prey to Fauvre, the knock on her head was beginning to slow her down. Leaping onto the stage, he drew the enraged Inspector's attention away from her. Barely conscious, she still fought, trying to drag herself from the scene. Fauvre, fueled by burning fury, charged him, but was easily dispatched. The darkness was yet again an advantage, as the Inspector didn't accurately observe the distance between them. _It was not nearly as far as he had thought…_Unceremoniously dumping Fauvre's unconscious body into the orchestra pit to be found later, the rescuer approached the girl. Amusingly, she tried to escape him as well, gripping at the stage in an attempt to pull herself away from him. He bent over her, checked her eyes for signs of trauma. She wouldn't be able to see him in the darkness, but as his eyes had strengthened over the years of living in it, he could see her face quite clearly. Her eyes were dull, confused, and he knew that the knock on her head had given her a concussion. Scooping her up in his arms, he was mildly surprised to hear her give a low chuckle before dropping out of the present.


	16. An Interest To Me

16

"An Interest to Me"

I woke to a dark bedroom…it took me a few seconds to realize that it was my own, and at the Opera Populaire…_Oh no…am I still here_? My head throbbed, I could have sworn I could feel every blood cell running through my veins, and each one hurt terribly. Everything was fuzzy, and I was slow to realize that I probably had had a concussion. Lifting hesitant fingers to my head, I discovered my jaw to be swollen, probably black and blue too…_That bastard! _My thoughts warbled, anger contesting the confusion that I still felt from the head injury._ I look gross enough as it is, I really don't need a nice huge welt…I'll kick his freaking ass! _I groaned, applying slight pressure to the lump, experimentally rocking my jaw around to test the pain. Sure enough, it was there and each slight movement sent shots of it throughout my head. '_What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger_…' I recited the phrase as the pain surged forward. Fireworks going off before my eyes, I let out a yip of astonishment when a low voice rumbled from across the room. I whipped my head around to face the speaker, regretting it immediately as a wooziness waved over me.

"Do not press on it, the swelling is just starting to diminish." I wasn't alone. My head was still too clouded to really put together what was going on. _That man…that voice…what happened? Who is that, Nathaniel? No—no, he saved me. From Fauvre, I remember..._Memories blinked through my fuzzy mind, not all of them clear. The most prevalent one, though, was that of a darkened face, half-covered by a bright white mask. _The Phantom! That's—he's here!_ Trying to squash the qualms that pinched in my stomach, I gave my savoir a small smile.

"You're—you're…You saved me, didn't you?" He rested casually, as if this was an every-day sort of thing for him, against the back wall of my room, close to the door_. Probably so he can escape as fast as possible if I try to take off his mask or something…_My small gas lantern was lit, his mask and certain angles of his face illuminated slightly I analyzed him warily, not knowing exactly what to say or do. I was still half-way convinced that I was dreaming from the concussion, though I felt like I was seated in reality, the situation was just too…unreal. _He doesn't have a death's head…he was supposed to have a death's head!_ Although I couldn't really see him clearly, what I could see wasn't accurate to the novel I had worshipped earlier in life. Under my intent stare, he shifted uncomfortably, and it dawned on me that I wasn't showing my gratitude very well by staring at him. It was hard not to, this was the infamous Phantom of the Opera, an actual person_. Not the evil creepy freak he had been in the book_…_at least I hope not._ He nodded ever so slightly, and I blinked, trying to force my gaze from him. The last thing I wanted to do was drive him away by staring at him too much. _A man that loathes himself because of his appearance does not want to be stared at…nice, Gwen._ Although I felt a little apprehension, I was too dazed to hold onto my anger at his irritating jokes on me, and when I considered that the man had saved me twice, it drained away completely. Out of my blotchy thoughts, curiosity rose. Curiosity about the _real_ man that wore a mask, hid himself in darkness. _Is he _anything_ like the novel…? I doubt the novel Phantom would have saved me…_Raising a hand to rub at my temples, hoping to somehow clear the confusion that still resided in me, I stammered out my gratitude.

"Well…thanks. Really…I don't know what the hell he thought he was doing, but so long as you don't Punjab him or something, I think I can get his ass fired." I tried to make my voice seem light, joking, as if he might lighten up and talk to me. I strained to see a reaction, unable because of the general darkness of the room. My joke failed most likely, a tense silence overtook the room. After a few moments of my brain furiously working to think of something else to say, the most obvious question hit me. Before I even got a chance to ask, though, he unexpectedly spoke.

"Your next question is on your face, mam'selle. You are wondering why," Folding his arms across his chest, he stared at me through the shadows. "Firstly, this is _my_ theater, and I will not have that—depraved lunatic—attacking helpless women as he pleases. He has no place here, and I believe my _involvement_, though _reluctant_ it was," he gave a contemptible snort, purposely acting haughty, "will have convinced him of that. Like most cowards, I expect him to flee… Your gratitude is hardly needed, nor wanted." Slightly stung, I opened my mouth to retort, but he continued. The sound of his voice, was different from when I had heard it before, powerful, commanding, disdainful, certainly intimidating. "Secondly…" It now became slightly awkward and hurried. "You have been somewhat of an interest to me, mademoiselle. You speak, act, differently than any other residing here. Where are you from, and how did you come to be at the Opera Populaire? After most likely saving you twice, I believe I am deserving of an answer." The first part of his little speech was gruff and entirely cold, as if he was devoid of any feelings at all. The second part, though, made me rethink this hypothesis, his voice had roughed even more. Even in my clearing haziness, I could pick up on the fact that he seemed almost embarrassed by his own question, demanding an explanation. I smothered a smirk at him, his accented voice thick from disuse. _He hasn't spoken to anyone in a long time, and I don't think he wants to be talking to me now either. But he's too curious not to, heh!_ Despite his irritated attitude, I was thoroughly amused that he was asking about me, that I was a curiosity to him. I thought the question over, I had no idea really how to explain myself. I hadn't told anyone of my real home, time, life, and was unsure what to say to him. Dark eyes peered at me, focused and sharp from amongst the shadows.

"Well, my name's Gwen—Gwendolyn, actually—Shepherd, and I come from Washington DC. In the United States…I suppose we would have just fought the Civil War, right? This is 1870, right?" The shadows that played on his forehead wrinkled, and I guessed he was furrowing his brow.

"You are unaware of the current state of your nation? And of the date…?" His tone dripped with suspicion. _Ugh…My head_…_What should I say? Tell him I'm from the future? He'll think I'm nuts_…As he continued to stare, I relented, most likely softened by recovering from the concussion_. Well, what the hell, what does it matter what some crazy guy in a mask who believes he's a ghost thinks anyway?_ Stressed and still extremely frazzled over the attack caused something to snap inside of me, and although I didn't mean to, I felt the flood gates open and poured out the truth that I had worked so hard to keep hidden. From others as well as myself.

"Well…ok. This is going to sound absolutely retarded, but just hear me out. I'm from the DC in 2007, not 1870. I'm from the future, and I have no idea how I got here, and I'm not even sure I _am_ here, I think I might possibly still be dreaming, but I'm not sure I haven't really figured that out, I mean, come on, what proof do I have? Besides my purse, though, right? But that could be in a dream too I guess…I haven't told anyone, it's just too crazy, I don't even know if I believe it myself and here you come, adding to the craziness! Honestly, though, I don't know why I'm telling you this, you're supposed to be the bad guy!" Realizing that I had just blurted out everything, my voice becoming slightly screechy in my near-hysterics, I looked away from him, expecting to hear accusations of insanity. Compressed tears, that I had barely known were even in me, surfaced in my eyes, threatening to embarrass me in front of the dark stranger. He once again was silent, observing. Humiliated, I suddenly felt antagonistic to him, suspicious. "I'm sorry, I know you saved me and all that, but I've…heard things about you…" My reddened eyes widened with shock as he actually chuckled, not a pleasing one but harsh, cruel.

"Mademoiselle, though I have reservations about your claims, I assure you I am no threat to you. As for being the "bad guy", you are most likely quite right…my actions would not appear particularly noble to an outside perspective," He sounded exceptionally bitter, his enrapturing voice gritty with dark emotion. "Once again, though, I assure you that I am no danger to you or yours. The only person to whom I am a danger is our dear Inspector, who will be very lucky indeed if I decide not to "Punjab" him, as you say." His voice rippled across the room, losing its bitter tone, deep and resonant, if quiet. I was too easily distracted in this state, it took me a minute to absorb his words, so intent on listening to the mere tone of his delicious voice _No wonder he was able to lure an opera singer away with it, it's so…soothing. _Taking advantage of his "talkative" mood, I impulsively asked another question.

"Can I ask what you're still doing here? I mean, if I had burned down the place, I would have been out of here!" Realizing the moment it was out of my mouth that it was probably one of the stupidest questions I could have asked, I cursed my present feeble-mindedness. Sighing in my hands, I didn't really expect an answer, the air about him was that of the utmost dignity, and I kind of figured, that the question most likely insulted him.

"I am arranging business here," He responded curtly, surprising me. "So you are from the future, you say? Assuming, hypothetically, that it is true, how did you come to the Opera Populaire?" I scowled at his cutting question, but realized that at least it was better than flat out denial. _And at least he's talking to me…_Rubbing at my eyes, I pulled my knees to my chest, knowing that my answers be as unsatisfactory to him as they were to me.

"I don't know. One minute I was being shoved around by my mother's blind date candidate, and the next moment, I woke up on the floor on the second level with Raoul coming to my rescue." A sharp hiss cut through my words in reaction to the name. _Oh right…Raoul steals Christine from him…oops. Stupid! Think of something else to say! _"Uh, but I still had everything that I had there, my clothes, my purse…I figured I had just hit my head and this was all some crazy hallucination." I smiled at him, hoping to loosen him up a little. It didn't work, he remained placid.

"I assure you, mademoiselle, this is no hallucination."

"I bet you'd still say that if you were a hallucination. Please, call me Gwen." The joke might have been lost on him, his silence gave me no clue. I hoped he would give me his name, even though I already knew it. _Erik_…I didn't expect it though, it wasn't just a common courtesy for him like it was for anyone else. His name was his ultimate indication of trust, to the world for much of his life, he had just been "The Phantom". My silly, unrealistic hopes were dashed when he spoke.

"I am…no one. I have no name. Since you believe me to be what you have been _told_, though, you may refer to me as all the _rest_ do. As the 'Phantom'." His tone harsh, I looked away, my face flushed with slight embarrassment as his insult hit home. Then to my utter surprise, he suddenly swan-dived into a low bow and swept out of my room. I flipped out of the bed to try to follow, or call him back, but my feet got tangled in the sheets, and my equilibrium was still off, and I stumbled, lurching and nearly falling over. I was only a few seconds behind him, but when I reached the doorframe, he was gone. _I guess _that_ conversation's over. He just disappeared. __A true phantom_…


	17. A Miserable Creep

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

17

"A Miserable Creep"

Two days had passed since rescuing the girl, and he had noticed they had been a little bit less painful than the days before_. I…actually _saved_ someone. I saved someone, and she was grateful. She was not afraid…_The concept puzzling and foreign, he had pondered it extensively, watching the subject of his thoughts nearly constantly while doing so. He decided it was because she was relatively new to the Opera Populaire, and because she hadn't really _seen_ him, he was shrouded in darkness. She went about her simple tasks, dull, but during her breaks she seemed to liven, laughing, talking, enjoying the company of her friends. She held most of her company with an English woman and a young man, who he recognized as being the lead, 'Romeo'. Though the English woman held no interest for him, he carefully watched the firebrand's interactions with the young lead, a bitter suspicion lingering in him as he tried to determine the state of their relationship. He didn't feel actively jealous or angered by it, but once again, the classically handsome, charming young man was winning over a fascinating beauty, and he hated it to the core. He especially hated the time they spent alone together, mostly in the form of her voice lessons. He had noticed that she had one generally every day, whenever they both had a free hour. Though he was reluctant to acknowledge it, the former Angel of Music heard her improvement with each lesson. Her voice was re-developing, regaining the charm and strength that she must have had some time before. The two spent generally two thirds of the time practicing, and the final third laughing, dancing, chatting, or generally roughhousing_. She would improve faster if he were more strict…amateur. _

As Christine's voice teacher, he had been strict to the extreme, demanding that she always push herself harder for long hours of the day. As a result, over the years, the child with just a pretty, if immature, voice developed into an amazing talent, captivating the audiences that had heard her. The lessons Gwendolyn and the lead were having, though, were a mockery of his efforts, they were in it not for the product, but the process. It had irked him, yes, but not nearly as much as observing the simple fun and enjoyment they were having, delighting in their leisurely lessons. In spirit, she seemed nearly fully recovered and unbothered by her experience with the Inspector, the only evidence of it was the large ugly bruise across her jaw. Even that, though, was easy to forget as she laughed.

The same, however, could not have been said about the Inspector. The man had been found a bloody pulp the next morning, and had to be carried out of the Opera Populaire. Though the former Phantom was sure there would be consequences, there always were, it was easy to disregard them. _The man was a contemptible dog, he deserved worse than he received._ In his anger he had wanted to kill the man, and he remembered considering to do just that while standing over Fauvre's unconscious body that evening. Something, though, had prevented him, a sour revulsion for it, and he had merely pushed the body off the stage instead. _Hopefully he will take what he did get as warning enough to stay away_…Though as he irately watched the girl be swung about by 'Romeo', he wasn't entirely sure what exactly he wanted Fauvre to stay away from.

o o o o o

Over the next two days, I thought almost obsessively about my encounter with the Phantom. I mentioned it to no one, not even Kathryn. As incredibly juicy as the story was, it somehow seemed to me that I would be violating his trust if I gossiped about it. _Funny…he all but admitted he was a 'bad guy'…sort of. And what was with that last comment?_ Today I was polishing marble floors, only taking a break to have a voice lesson with Nathaniel, but my mind was not on the task. I had been considering his last parting insult since the very evening I had met him. _'Since you believe me to be what you have been told…you may refer to me as the rest do…'_ Although he had been the epitome of intriguing, he had not been charming, or even pleasant. His comments dripping with either disdain, suspicion, or bored curiosity, with any other person I would have been extremely put off. _The fact that he's the Phantom though…True, he pretty much said I was some sort of lemming or sheep that follows what everybody says and doesn't think for herself. Humph. I'm the one whose been telling everyone he didn't exist, while everyone else gossips about him! Proof that I'm not just some sheep…Even if I did listen to them, which I don't, is it so bad? He's the one fueling their rumors, probably on purpose, what does he care about a little gossip? If anything, he should be happy that he's some sort of legend…He's just a miserable creep. Probably should stay in his little hole under the stupid opera house_…_I'm being stupid. Childish. Here I am, pouting about an insult from a man who hides from the rest of humanity. What does he know about people, or me, for that matter? Nothing. Get over it, Gwen. It's not important._ I dug my brush into the floors as I scrubbed ferociously, bending the bristles, knowing that deep down, I really wanted to learn more about him. His character in the novel had been fascinating, with so much depth and so many confusing faucets of personality and talent that I had been enthralled, even though I knew he was the antagonist. _What is he now? Antagonist or not…? Definitely a jerk…_

"Gwen!" I snapped to attention.

"Huh, what?" Kathryn was eyeing me, a brow raised with puzzlement.

"What has been goin' on in your head? You've been silen' as the grave for the past two days, and your sittin' there tryin' to scrub a 'ole in the floor! Ever since ya got tha' bruise, you've been different…" She leaned in, worriedly. I had told her that I had tripped climbing onto the stage and fell on my face, getting the purple bump on my jaw with my own clumsiness. The next morning though, the Inspector had been spotted being helped out of the theater by the managers, practically being carried, his face covered in swollen bruises and dried blood. It didn't take a musical genius or any other kind to put the two together. I glanced up at her, knowing that by averting my eyes, she could tell for sure that I was lying.

"I've just been so stressed because of the opening next week and the gala coming up! So much work to do! And this pretty bump doesn't help…" I stuck out my jaw and rolled back my eyes, making a clownish face at her so she would stop worrying. "I'm fine, really. I'll just be so happy when this is over!" She smiled warmly, but her eyes remained on me as I bent back down to scrub_. She doesn't believe me_…Guilt swelled within me. _I'll have to tell her sooner or later…Later. _

_- - -_

My conversation with the Phantom still bubbling in my head, I decided that I was fairly insulted enough to not let him have the last word. That, and a secret hope that he would further quench my curiosity in him caused me to take action. _The managers would leave him letters in Box Five…hm._ Borrowing a sheet of paper, and a pen and ink, I decided to write to my infamous rescuer.

_Dear 'Phantom'…I really enjoyed our little discussion the other night. As you definitely know, our new show 'Romeo and Juliet' is due to open in a week. Rumor, though for the record I rarely pay attention to them, has it that you were the one to drop the chandelier on the last performance. I'm asking you then, for the sake of us all, that if you do not like the performance, to please not do that again…I had to polish that damn stage and it was hell on my back, so I'd rather not do it again. Hope you like it, the lead soprano is a terror, but you have to admit she's improved. _

_Gwen_

Though most of it was a joke, I hoped he could tell it was _I wonder if the man has any sense of humor at all. Jokes might be a socially created thing, but I would think a sense of humor would be ingrained in us all…otherwise, how could we deal with life_? Folding the letter, I tripped up to Box Five, resting it on one of the seats and briefly hoped that someone at the Opera Populaire wouldn't find it and mock me. Or even worse, turn me into the managers or Fauvre for 'hiding evidence' or 'fraternizing with the enemy', or something. Content in my efforts to relieve my near insatiable curiosity, I quit the box. _I hope I'm not fired for this, or thrown in jail…my priorities are so messed up_.


	18. Impudent and Presumptuous

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

18

"Impudent and Presumptuous"

On a regular mission of observation, he ducked out of the secret passage that linked to Box Five only to hear a soft crunch under his foot. Discovering a folded piece of paper, suspicion and distrust wavered within him as he found the letter to be addressed to himself. _Someone is sending_ me _notes now?_ Unfolding the paper, he was mildly surprised and reluctantly pleased to find it was from the firebrand girl. Reading the scrawled message it contained, his lips pulled into a tight line. And then folded up at the corners slightly in a small, amused smile. _She wishes to play with the Phantom, hmmm? Very well._ His mild amusement and surprise lightened his severe mood, gripping the letter in hand, he slipped back into the passage to his underground home. Feeling a playfulness that he had only experienced when pranking the operafolk or badgering the managers, he wrote back. _I doubt she will expect to receive and answer…the more reason to provide one. She is impudent and presumptuous to write me, perhaps I should remind her of that…_

_Insolent Gwendolyn,_

_You presume much by writing to me, let me assure you that it is only my gracious mood that caused me to respond. It does not occur often, and I do not have time for foolish games, and even less for foolish girls. You claim to be from the future, but must understand my disbelief in this. Have you any proof, or do you expect others to just accept your impossible tale? _

_Your humble servant,_

_O.G._

_P.S.- Worry not about the chandelier raining down on you again, I hardly believe I could dislike 'Romeo and Juliet' _that_ much. _

He gave the letter a devious smirk. _Let us see what kind of proof she has…I could not imagine it would be anything of consequence. Foolish girl._ Striding back to the surface through a pitch tunnel, he considered her, attempting to form another conclusion on her character. He begrudgingly liked the girl, she was more full of life than any other woman he had seen before. She was headstrong to the point of pigheaded stubbornness, she was impulsive, loud, hardly knew her place, and could possibly be delusional or insane. He snorted at the possibility. _Having been insane myself, I can hardly hold that against her_…_Perhaps she really is delusional, even insane, but her language usage…I have never heard a dialect like that_…At the same time, although the trait had irked him at first, he now admired her ability to stand up for herself, every other woman he had ever seen had been completely controlled and dictated by her husband. _Even Christine allowed me to control her…a beautiful fool. _Closing his eyes, he let the standard pulse of pain hit him at the thought of her, realizing that it was slightly less that it had been. _No, the firebrand lives up to her name in manner, she is too willful to let anyone even attempt to intimidate her, much less control her. She is very vocal about that, always has something to say. _Smiling slightly at that, he emerged in one of the hallways in the dormitories. He had also observed another side of her, she clearly enjoyed her friends, but also had her introverted moments, her eyes sharp with quiet intelligence. _And, has moments of weakness…But she is not weak. Merely vulnerable._ He recalled her tears, most likely out of terror from the Inspector's threats. It had been an impressive feat, standing up to him, the man generally cowed not only women, but men as well. _She did not wallow in them either, did not crave pity, did not even speak of it to her friends…A difference from Christine, indeed. _

His angel cried frequently, especially during their practices. She was frail, and was easily upset when he berated her for not committing, not trying hard enough. The image of her, softly tearing up, allowing them to gently slide down her face, lit up in his mind, he mentally cursed, pushing the memory away. She had still been so beautiful when she cried, at least until she started wailing. And generally, he had subsided, taking to more delicate words of praise, either distraught at her sorrow, or frustrated with her childishness. _She was so fragile, but she always responded to compliments and praise…Like any other child. She was an adult in age, but not in spirit. She treated me, her Angel, like she did her father when he was still living. And, like a fool, I chose to believe it was because she was delicate, pure, innocent…or that she loved me. _It was so strange to him, with all of his interactions with Christine, he had never seen the strength that Gwendolyn had displayed. _Gwendolyn is no child_.

Approaching her room with silent steps, he silently picked the lock of her door, cracking it open to see if it was occupied. Naturally, she was out, and he placed his response on her pillow. _Best to remind her of my ability_…His mind still on her, he re-locked the door and retreated to a stage hall to watch how the rehearsal of "Romeo and Juliet" was progressing.

Though she would belt loudly for her young man, when alone Gwendolyn would softly hum to herself lovely little tunes that he had never heard before. She laughed, danced, joked, talked with her friends, her behavior still slightly bizarre, but always filled with charming spirit and energy. Avoiding the flymen and the hectic performers in the wings, he climbed a rope fluidly and silently until he was pressed against the ceiling of the theater, a perfect view of the stage.

The rehearsal went adequately for a week away until opening. Staging issues, entrance problems, the dancers not moving completely in sync, the costumes not all finished yet…_standard problems that will be solved over the next week_. He had to admit, the young man playing Romeo was fairly good, the other leads weren't nearly as strong in voice and emotion as he was. A slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he silently agreed with the firebrand's opinion of the lead soprano playing Juliet_. She _is_ a terror, but not as bad as I've heard in the past. _He thought of the screeching La Carlotta Guidicelli, the new lead soprano might not be very pleasant to listen to, but at least she didn't give him a headache. _At least not yet_…The rehearsal wound down as they reached the end and the director gave them a list of notes for improvement. _A position I used to fill…_His mood darkened slightly, he could pick out a thousand flaws the director had missed, and they could certainly benefit from his advice_. Not that they want it._ Though he was sorely tempted to drop a note with a better list, he decided firmly against it.

Running down the list in his head, he glanced at each performer as he came to them. Coming to 'Romeo', he glanced around for the young man, only to spot him slinking out a back exit. _Where is that idiot boy off to? He is hardly perfect, he should be listening to this!_ Pursing his lips, he decided that following the lead would most likely be more entertaining than listening to drabble that he already knew, and crept from his tucked away position. He followed the lead to one of the back practice rooms that the dancers frequented. Approaching silently, he heard a familiar peal of laughter. _Gwendolyn is in there!_ Anticipating a romantic scene that he would most likely find revolting, he grabbed a low beam and hauled himself up to it, climbing into the woodwork above the practice room so he could observe through the ceiling.To his slight relief, the English woman was also in the practice room, holding a bag full of food and drink. She and the firebrand waved at the male lead's appearance, displaying the items they brought.

"We weren't expecting you yet, did Reyer finally let you out early?" Gwendolyn handed him a clay mug, he seated himself on the floor next to them. Filling his mug with the wine the English woman handed to him, he shook his head.

"Of course not! No, I left during the notes…it was stifling in there, and I could not wait to get out…" He grinned at them, they rolled their eyes at each other, Gwendolyn chuckling.

"Ooo, breaking the rules! And you're a lead too! If Reyer realizes you're gone, he'll kick your ass," She laughed loudly, the other woman joined in. 'Romeo' leaned towards them, playfully suspicious.

"How long have you girls been drinking?" That brought on more laughter, Gwen hooked the other woman with her elbow, pulling her into a bizarre embrace. The other gurgled with slightly tipsy amusement, her eyes widening innocently as she bat them back at him.

"'ho, us? We were waitin' fer you, Natty…Jus' had a few sips, really," Gwendolyn burst out laughing at that, the male lead watching them with slight bewilderment.

"The bottles' nearly empty and you haven't even starting eating yet. Did _you_ get off early?" They nodded, the English woman breaking off a piece of bread and handing it to him. Above them, the ghost man soundlessly observed. He watched with confused fascination, he hadn't observed simple friend interactions since before Christine. The male lead had obviously accepted their slight inebriation, and was joking, grinning, and laughing with them, taking hearty swigs from his mug and then the bottle itself. Watching their levity, he felt his own mood drop in response. He had forgotten the pure delights that people could have with one another, something he had always witnessed but never participated in. Feeling more disconnected than ever, he was about to leave when the firebrand suggested they play a game to celebrate getting away from work.

"What game? The English woman slurred a little, her eyes bright with excitement.

"It's called 'Truth or Dare'," Gwendolyn supplied. "Essentially, one person goes first and asks another one either 'truth' or 'dare'. If they pick 'truth', then you can ask them anything and they have to tell you the truth! And if they pick 'dare', you can tell them to do anything and they have to do it! If they don't tell the truth or don't do the dare, they lose! If they do it, then it's their turn to ask or dare, get it? A really fun game, but can be easily abused…" She chuckled mischievously. "So nothing too bad, or too mean, ok guys? We're all friends here, let's keep it that way…" The others seemed to be interested, Gwendolyn went first.

"Kathryn, truth or dare?"

"Truth!"

"How's Elizabeth handling the transition from England?" Kathryn smiled warmly.

"Ya could 'ave jus' asked me tha', Gwenny! Well, she misses 'er friends, but 'as made some new ones. She seems t' be doing quite well. I hate bein' away from 'er, but this job pays pretty well, an' I think if I stay on long enough, we'll be able to get a small place somewhere."

"Glad to hear it, she's wonderful, Kat." Listening to their game, he made a mental note of the English woman's predicament. Random information that wasn't important to him in the least, but knowing these kinds of things tended to be an advantage. They continued on, ever ignorant of his presence. The English woman, Kathryn, turned her attentions to Romeo.

"Natty, truth or dare?"

"Alright, truth. Ask away," He shrugged, waving his hand vaguely.

"Do ya ever plan t' go back t' the States? The war's over," Gwen nodded at the question, hugging her knees, awaiting the answer. His lips thinned as he analyzed the question.

"Honestly, I do not really have a plan…I just came here to get away and try to make a life for myself. I lost so many people I loved there…I'm not entirely sure I can go back, it would be very painful…" His expression clouded, Kathryn nodded.

"I don' blame you, I'm really sorry, Nat." She leaned over and clasped his hands in hers, he nodded, giving her an encouraged smile.

"I believe it's my turn? Well…That last question was a little depressing, wasn't it? Gwendolyn! Dare! Come dance with me!" He abruptly surged to his feet, grabbing her hand in the process. She let out a shout of laughter as he swung her around and into his arms, the two breaking into a hurried two-step. Kathryn cheered them on, shouting advice at them which dance moves they should try. Still laughing, Gwen gripped his hands and spun him around, leading him in a strange series of steps that neither Nathaniel, or the former Phantom in the ceiling had ever seen before. As he watched them dance, his bitterness only increased, now streaked with an emotion he was all too acquainted with, jealousy. Nathaniel grabbed her waist, lifting her off her feet and spun with her, and lowering her back to the floor, dropped her into a low dip. Gwen's head was thrown back as she giddily laughed, obviously delighted with their spontaneous dance. Nathaniel released her, she fell back into her spot on the floor, still chuckling.

"What dance were you doing Gwenny? I've never seen one like it," The young man asked, seating himself as well.

"Just something I learned in the States, its called Swing, it's really fast-paced, and when you're good at it, there are lots of aerials and flips and stuff," She ripped another piece of bread off the baguette that sat in the middle of their group. Chewing, she eyed Kathryn, grinning maliciously. "Truth or dare?" The English woman, obviously caught up in the excitement, announced that she would do any dare that Gwen gave her.

"Heh, that was probably a bad choice, Kat," She swiped up the second bottle of wine they had opened, already more than half empty, and shoved it at Kathryn. "Chug this,"

"Chug?"

"Drink it in one pull, as fast as you can," The English woman gawked slightly, while Romeo started to laugh again, urging her to do it. Pressured, she grabbed the bottle and lifted it to her mouth, starting to gulp it down. Pushing her fist into the air while she guzzled it, she earned more cheers and shouts from the others. Then slamming the bottle down, and wiping her face, she hacked into her arm, and with a victorious shout, pointed at the two of them in triumph. The others gave more cheers, clapping her on the shoulder and back.

"It's my turn! Oh, yer gonna get it, Gwen! Nat, truth or dare?"

"Dare!" He responded excitedly.

"I dare you t' kiss Gwen! On the lips!" She practically screamed, her face stretched into a devilish grin.

"Wha? No—" The young man delighted in the dare, seizing the back of the firebrand's head and pulling her into a sloppy kiss, her face pinched into a ridiculous grimace. The masked man above couldn't help it, he emitted a low growl in boiling outrage, which only abated with she laughingly pushed the young man off of her. Though she laughed, and her smile was silly, her eyes hinted that she wasn't exactly pleased by the interaction. The young lead, though, accepted her good-natured rejection, blew her a comical kiss. Kathryn thought the entire exchange, though, was hilarious and had been doubled up with laughter for most of it.

"Alright, alright, you got me back, no more kissing! Natty, it's your turn,"

"Fine, fine, no more kissing. Truth or dare, Gwen?"

"I think I'd be safer in choosing truth, so truth it is." She leaned back, resting backward on her elbows as she looked up at Nathaniel.

"Truth…truth. Do you believe in the Phantom, Gwen? You always said that you didn't but you've been avoiding talking about him for the past few weeks. You used to be so sure," The young man's face wasn't suspicious or devious, only open and curious. She shot him a half-smile.

"Yes, I do believe in him," She replied simply. The observer above had held his breath, unsure if she would admit anything to her friends or not, or if she would even acknowledge his existence. He realized that if she had said no, it would have just been for appearances, but was pleased that she had said yes anyways. Somehow, it brought him into their group, he suddenly felt like he was involved. _I could pretend I had friends_…he ignored the pangs of bitter anguish that went along with the thought, concentrating on the conversation below him.

"Since when? Something didn't happen to you, did it?" Nathaniel pressed, leaning in with interest. She laughed this time, coolly playing it off.

"No, nothing's happened. I just figured that if everybody's taking this so seriously, there must be _something_ behind it…I mean, why else would Andre and Firmin hire an inspector?" She shrugged, and they nodded, apparently accepting her lie. They all sat in a few moments of silence, each caught in their own thoughts. Suddenly, the English woman yawned, causing the others to smirk.

"Ugh, well Gwen, Natty, it's been lov'ly, but I think I should go t' bed. I'm sudd'nly very tired," She struggled to her feet, the alcohol showing its affects. Romeo nodded, wishing them goodnight as he retreated for bed too. Gwen was left to clean up the rest of the food, scooping it up and shoving it into the bag. She pushed off the floor and made her way out of the practice room, briskly walking down the hall towards the dormitories, unaware she was being followed. Reaching the hall, she paused, glancing behind her. Wary that she might have seen him, her pursuer paused, holding perfectly still in his place in the shadows. She dropped the bag suddenly and swung around, striding back the way she had came. It was late in the evening, everyone else had gone to bed. _What is she doing?_ He followed her as she came to the entrance hall, climbing theGrand Staircase to the second level. His brow furrowed as she came to her destination, a wall. Standing before it, she ran her hands over the smooth marble, then squatted, carefully running her hands over the floor. He knew the place, a large mirror had once hung where the wall was now barren. _Is she looking for the mirror?_ He knew it had been broken at one point, not knowing how or exactly when. _What would she want with a mirror?_ The woman obviously did not wanted to check her appearance, the strain on her face told him there was another reason. After several minutes, she sighed, and left, this time making it to her chambers.

He waited outside her door after she had retreated inside, hoping to hear some sort of response to his letter. Hearing a distinct chuckle, he left her, believing himself to be sated for the evening. His curiosity, though, proved otherwise when his mind continued to ponder her search for the mirror for the rest of the night.


	19. So Many Lies

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

19

"So Many Lies…"

Disappointment in not finding the mirror, or even any evidence of it causing me to be only more tired, I was all too willing to collapse into bed. I didn't even bother to change my clothes or turn on a light, just fell onto the bed. Hearing an unfamiliar crackle, I reached underneath me and extracted what felt like a piece of paper. Suddenly excited and very awake, I rolled over to light a match. _He wrote back_! I chuckled smugly as I opened the letter, hurriedly reading it.

_Insolent Gwendolyn,_

_You presume much by writing to me, let me assure you that it is only my gracious mood that caused me to respond. It does not occur often, and I do not have time for foolish games, and even less for foolish girls. You claim to be from the future, but must understand my disbelief in this. Have you any proof, or do you expect others to just accept your impossible tale? _

_Your humble servant,_

_O.G._

_P.S.- Worry not about the chandelier raining down on you again, I hardly believe I could dislike 'Romeo and Juliet' _that_ much. _

Snorting, I reread it, and shoved it under my mattress with the other. I shook out the match and lit another, this time touching it to my lamp. Pulling out a piece of paper, pen and ink, I prepared to write a response. _Do I have proof for him?_ The answer hit me, I rushed to my mattress again, this time pulling out my slender purse from home that I had kept hidden there. Digging through it, I pulled out my cellphone. Flipping it open, I pressed the on button. It sang to life with its little jingle, the screen displaying my options. Clutching the phone, I stared at it, wondering. _This won't work, I'm stupid..._ But I dialed my parent's number anyway, grasping at a fleeting, if ridiculous, hope. Of course, the screen immediately brought up the "no service" message. I tried again, not willing to give up yet. Same thing happened. Sighing, I turned off the phone. _At least it will be proof enough for him…I hope._ Turning back to my letter, I quickly scrawled my response.

_Mssr. Phantom,_

_Thank you for your gracious mood, I appreciate you making time to respond to me in your obviously busy schedule. As for foolish girls, you might have come across many, but I doubt I qualify. And as for foolish games, I have proof. But you're the only one I've told, so I don't expect others to believe anything. _

_Gwen_

I smirked, if he was going to be rude, I was going to be too. Tucking the letter under my mattress, I blew out the lamp and crawled into bed, deciding I would give it to him in the morning.

- - -

I delivered the letter to Box Five early, and then headed to breakfast with Kathryn and Nathaniel. Gossip, for once, had left the Phantom, concentrating on the Inspector. Chewing thoughtfully on some bread spread with marmalade, I glanced over at Kathryn as we headed backstage to collect our supplies for the day's workload.

"Do you really think he's going to be back in two days? I heard that he got a pretty bad beating…" Her expression darkened slightly as she considered the question.

"Perhaps. I never saw 'ow badly 'e was injured. You're sure ya know nothing abou' it?" Her brow quirked at me, she still suspected I knew more than I let on. My bruise was still very dark, standing out against my pale, freckled skin. I shook my head, my mouth thankfully full. "Hm. I can only assume it would 'ave t' be fairly soon, then. Germaine said tha' she 'eard it from a dancer who 'eard the managers talkin' about it," I gave her a twisted scowl, still conveying what I thought about it though my mouth was full. She continued, thoughtful. "No one," She paused, eyeing me dramatically, which I ignored, "knows what 'appened to 'im. Most think it was the Phantom. Why 'e'd go after the Inspector, though, is beyond me." I snorted, swallowing.

"You really can't think of a reason? The man was a horrible, malicious, disgusting creep. I think he deserves everything he got. Probably worse," Kathryn's brow furrowed, her eyes darkened with suspicious confusion.

"What makes you say tha'?"

"He preyed on women, Kathryn. Don't pretend that you didn't see the marks and bruises he left on the girls he 'talked' to," She looked grim, finally nodding.

"Aye, I saw 'em. He…he didn't give you tha', did he?" Her eyes focused on my purple jaw. I retold her the lie I had invented before, trying to give her the most sincere smile I had. _I've told her so many lies…I hate it. But I just _can't_ tell her what happened…_

"No, relax. I told you, I tripped. It was my own clumsiness. I mean, come on, you've seen me! I'm a walking disaster!" She laughed, the strain in her eyes lightening.

"Well, I can't say I 'aven't seen ya fall before. I still canno' believe how well ya danced wi' Natty yesterday. For once yer feet knew where t' go!" We both laughed at that. "I think yer right, though. I can see why the Phantom would want t' sort tha' man out. It's funny…no one's really seen 'im or anything since the accident. Of course ya still hear stories from the ballet rats and the like, but I was beginnin' to think 'e was dead!"

"No…he's not dead," I replied, lifting the buckets of polish I had been filling with me. _She's right. "No one's seen 'im or anything since the accident…"_ The "spirit" that used to openly terrorize the Opera Populaire had been all but silent, and despite claims from paranoid performers and workers, the only real hint of his presence had been the mess in the Managers' office, and that, it was thought, could have been thieves. _Was that even him? It seems odd that he would just go in and mess up their stuff…what reason would he have?_ I, of course, knew he was still around, though how much of the time, I was unsure. _Often enough to save me from the Inspector_…I had heard him, seen him, was even writing him and getting responses back from him, and yet he still didn't do anything to make his presence known to the rest of the opera house. I certainly wasn't going to tell them what I knew, but the more I thought about it, the more strange his behavior seemed. _If pretending to be a ghost and scaring the shit out of people to make them do an opera the way you want isn't strange anyway…why isn't he out scaring people, crashing rehearsals, leaving notes anymore?_ Pondering this, I went to work. _Maybe I'll ask him if I ever hear from him again…_


	20. I Believed Myself Invited

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

20

"I Believed Myself Invited"

I skipped dinner that evening, taking some food to eat in my room. Nathaniel was still in rehearsals anyway, and Kathryn was spending the evening with her daughter. _Just as well, I'm too tired to be interesting tonight anyway. _Most of the other laborers and performers were still up and working, I had left early to get some more sleep. Shifts had been lengthened today again, the managers wanted the Opera Populaire to be in excellent condition earlier. _And why? Because they've decided to stress us out even more and throw a fucking gala!_ I had been more than resentful, most of the employees had. The gala had been arranged weeks before without any of us knowing about it, invitations sent to the crème de la crème of Parisian society, as well as the upper crust across the rest of Europe. They had thought that the Opera Populaire would be done in plenty of time for the show, and set the gala's date for the night before, hoping to draw in more guests to opening night. It would have been a good plan, except for the fact that, naturally, we were behind schedule. Anyone who knew anything about construction would have realized that would happen. Pissed off that we now officially had five days instead of six to get everything together, I was privately striking my extra hours. No one would notice, it was too hectic, and Kathryn had prearranged her absence. So, scuttling down the hallways with my arms full of dinner, I shut myself away in my room, looking forward to an evening of relaxation and peace. Life, decided, though, that that was not an option.

"Good evening," A voice rippled out of the darkness, I had yet to light my lamp. Choking on a squeak of surprise, I dropped my dinner items onto my bed, hoping sincerely that they had not bounced off and hit the floor. Quickly striking a match, I discovered the form of the Phantom, wrapped up in his cloak. I scowled at him viciously, irritated.

"You really enjoy scaring the shit out of people, don't you? Just can't help yourself," I snapped, lighting my lamp with the match. He made no response, so I continued. "What are you doing here?" He crossed over to my chair in the dim light, seating himself with a fancy flourish of his cloak. I noticed that instead of the classic white half-mask, his face was almost completely covered by a black one, his mouth and chin the only flesh exposed.

"I believed myself invited, as you claimed to have proof."

"No, you weren't, but I do have proof," I replied nastily, crossing my arms over my chest. He interested me greatly normally, but tonight I was in no mood. I had really been looking forward to a private, quiet night, in which I could actually get a good night's sleep. He gave me a vague wave of his gloved hand.

"I tremble with anticipation…" His mouth smirked into a small sarcastic smile, adequately matching his tone. Rolling my eyes with annoyance, I bent down and lifted my mattress, pulling out my purse.

"That is your proof? Forgive me, but I do not see—"

"No, it's not! Just wait a minute!" I cut him off, I had _really_ been hoping to just be alone for an evening. I cared for my friends, definitely, but needed some time to myself. With the anxious activity that constantly surrounded me, I was getting people-claustrophobic, and needed some time off to ease my temperament. He wisely was quiet, but I could almost feel the room grow tense as he eyed me, obviously irritated. _I bet no one's ever spoken to him like that…I doubt he handles it well._ I decided to be a little more courteous, even if he didn't deserve it. _It would probably be stupid for me to piss off the man who saved me twice, and could probably kill me with even less trouble. _I pulled out my phone, holding it out to him with a patient smile.

"Here, this is the best I've got," He gently took it from me, his annoyance shifting to interest as he handled the phone.

"What is it?" I grinned, kneeling beside him. He handed me the phone easily, but shifted his weight away from me, like at any moment I might strike him. Finding his behavior strange, I decided it would be best to ignore it, and flipped open the phone. His eyes behind the mask widened as I turned it on, little lights danced and the jingle rang like normal. I played absently with the features, showing off what it could do. Handing it back to him, I allowed him to play with the buttons as he tried to figure out how to work it.

"It's a phone. A telephone. Um, I guess it won't get invented for another few years. Alexander Graham Bell, 18…76? Well, somewhere around there. You use it to contact people. I don't know how they work in 1876, but for these, you dial a number that matches someone else's phone, and they pick it up and you can talk to them through it," He grunted, still pressing buttons.

"How do I know it works as you say? Can you show me? Talk to someone with it?" I signed, sitting on the floor.

"…I tried. _Believe_ me, I tried. It doesn't work in this time, not that I would expect it to…Only a few of the other features work, the internet doesn't work…All I have left is my music clips, and some movie—" I sat bolt upright, and grabbed the phone away from him, he recoiled slightly at my impulsive actions.

"I can show you a movie! Or play you some music or something! _That's_ technology!" Finding the feature, I brought up movie clips that I had downloaded, thumbing down the list. I hurriedly scrolled down to avoid a certain group of clips, blushing, and hoping he wouldn't notice. It would be more than embarrassing to show the actual Phantom that I had downloaded clips of a recent movie made about him, and didn't think he would react kindly to them either. _He would probably be horrified, he's such a secret man…_I selected a clip from "The Matrix", hoping to show off some fancy technology. Chuckling, I handed him the phone, he was transfixed as the characters Neo, Trinity, and Morpheus leapt into a hovering helicopter, Trinity trying to fly it as the fuel tank was shot, and Neo saving her as the helicopter crashed into a glass paneled building. He numbly gave it back to me, visibly shaken. _Aww_…Blinking rapidly behind the mask, he turned to me.

"Is…is that what the future is like?" I laughed outright, he had seen some pretty impossible things, and I hadn't even shown him a person being turned into an Agent, or Neo stopping bullets.

"No, not really. That wasn't real life, it was a clip from a favorite movie of mine…like a story told in pictures. It's pretty impossible to do what they did, leaping from helicopters and stuff, but the buildings, the machines, the guns, that stuff is all real," I turned off the phone, and crossing the room again, tucked it back under the mattress. "I'm from 2007, things have changed a lot. Man has invented things that allow us to fly, to talk to each other over thousands of miles away, to get information on practically anything at any time…Hell, you guys don't even get the electric light bulb for almost a decade, hardly any indoor plumbing either." I grimaced at the thought of my cold baths and trips to the necessary. He reacted very little, leaning on an armrest of the chair and quietly considering what I had said and shown him. I let him think, eating a piece of fruit from the pile I had swiped. The room seemed to tense, and I felt vaguely uncomfortable. It was an understatement to say that the man was odd, and it was obvious he didn't understand, much less was comfortable with, human interactions. That, and the complete impossibility of our conversation, threw me. After some time, his eyes met mine again, he spoke slowly, as if still unsure.

"Your letter said you have told no one else of your future?" Pleased by the question, not only was it easy, it cut through the awkwardness of the room, I smiled at him around the apple.

"No one."

"Not even your friends?" His prodding was certainly amusing, almost cute, and I relaxed. _Maybe he's not as bad as I thought…_

"Nope."

"Why?" Expecting this would be his next question, I answered readily.

"They would think I'm crazy. And if I showed them the phone, they might even tell people…I care about them and trust them, but…people can never resist a good story, right? And mine is the best," His eyes sparkled from across the room, he had gotten over his shock and was now accepting.

"You do not worry about me?" I chuckled into the apple.

"Let's just say that I think you're a quiet person. Honestly, I can't really see you strutting around telling the ballet corps or the chorus girls where I'm really from. The way I see it, you would have either believed me, or thought I was nuts and left me be. And," I gave him a playful grin, "I think you believe me." His lips curled into a small smile, a rare sight, I knew.

"You presume much, girl."

"Gwen. My name is Gwen,"

"Gwen," He repeated quietly, as if sounding out the name, considering it. I blushed with surprising pleasure, and tried to hide it behind biting into my apple again.

"What do you wish to accomplish by telling me your secrets, Gwendolyn? You wish me to tell you _mine_?" I was astonished by the sudden bitterness in his voice. Taken slightly aback, my answer was shaky, stuttering slightly. _I thought we were getting along…_

"No, no. I thought…I," I looked away, now embarrassed and re-thinking my intentions. "…I just wanted to ask—to ask for your help,"

"Help?" He sneered , his eyes distrustful. "What is it that you would like? You wish me to train your pathetically weak voice? You would have me wipe out any opposition so you could be Juliet? To become the next bright star of the Opera Populaire? Or of the world?" Angry shock flushed my cheeks.

"No! Of course not! Hell, I wouldn't want to perform in this godforsaken place if you or anyone else offered me a million dollars! I hate it here, I just want to get _home_!" I shouted at him, I didn't really mean for it to come out that way, but he had gone too far. I knew who he was thinking of, and my memory summoned the face of the woman I knew had used him and crushed him. _I'm not like her at all!_ Wanting to cement that point, I had gone as far as saying I hated the Opera Populaire_. I don't, but I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life here either. I miss my family, my friends, my plants, and even my problems…They weren't great, but at least I know how to deal with them. 1870 has too much drama!_ My answer seemed to calm the anger in his eyes, but did nothing to salve his nasty tone.

"Well, mademoiselle, I am very sorry for your distaste, but I do not know how to help you. You cannot even tell me how you came to be here," I was seething by this point_. He's such an asshole! No wonder she left him! Ugh, I wouldn't want to put up with him either!_

"That's because I don't know, _ok_! I told you that before! One minute, I was being harassed by some idiot in my parents' house, and then next, I found myself on the floor lying in a pile of glass! Ok!?" Furious, I had begun to pace, gripping an orange so tightly it began to squash in my hand.

"Pile of glass?" He pressed, randomly. I blinked at him, surprised out of my anger.

"Yes, the mirror on the second floor was broken," I responded lamely, not understanding his obscure interest. His lips thinned and eyes hooded as he withdrew into thought.

"_You_ broke the mirror…" It wasn't an accusation, but a mumbled statement as he contemplated. "You went up there last night." He glanced up at me, I gaped in sudden humiliation, dropping the squishy orange. Last night was fun, but certainly not something I wanted him to see, especially the drinking. I hadn't been intoxicated, really, but had had a fair portion to relieve some stress. For some reason, it irked me that he might think I was some kind of drunk.

"You-you were watching me?!" I accused, embarrassed and wanting to shift the embarrassment to him. He didn't seem remotely ashamed of it, his eyes actually flashing.

"I watch everyone. The happenings of the Opera Populaire are my business," He glared, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. "And you forget that if I had not been watching, you might have had more than a bruise on your chin from Fauvre!" I grit my teeth, knowing he was right, but still, the whole situation offended.

"I don't like being watched," I growled, stomping over to my bed, seating myself firmly on it. "And if you don't want to help me, fine. Leave. I'll figure it out on my own," I was actually afraid of having to do it on my own, and regretted the words, but was too angry and humiliated to want him anywhere near me, or to take them back. Lying down on the bed, I rolled over, my back to him, to indicate the conversation was over. He didn't budge.

"Was the mirror broken before or after you woke up in the Opera Populaire?" His voice cut through my anger. I wanted to ignore him, but bitterly spat out an answer instead.

"I don't know. I didn't see it." _Duh_.

"What _do_ you remember seeing?" Seeing that he was not going anywhere, and was planning on just sitting there, I rolled onto my stomach so I could fix him with a nasty glare.

"What do you care, anyway? You're not going to help me!" Once again, I knew I was acting like a bitch, but thought that he deserved it. He ignored my dirty look.

"I did not say I wouldn't, I believe I said that I did not know how. Now, what do you remember seeing?" I rolled my eyes. _He's being difficult on purpose!...But I am too. _

"Before or after?"

"Either."

"I…I was in my parents' house. I was in the hall, walking out of the bathroom. Jonathan found me, and tried…tried to attack me," I didn't want to talk about it anymore, ashamed of myself. _It's not my fault,_ I told myself forcefully, but couldn't relieve the lump of guilt that made me think it was.

"Go on," He prompted. I rolled away from him again, I couldn't hold his eyes while talking about it. I had repressed how scared I was, how scared and angry, humiliated and terrified that it would happen again. _And it nearly did_…

"Gwen…" He pressured again. My voice broke roughly as I continued.

"He pushed me into the mirror. My mirror, Mom and Dad were just holding onto it for me, Dad was fixing the back. I tried to hold him off, I felt the glass cracking behind me…" _Oh my God!_ Memories slammed into me, of being shoved into the glass, the pain in my back as it sliced into me. _How did I forget!!_ The night's disaster must have dimmed my recollection of the events of the afternoon. I remembered Raoul, but hardly anything about myself. _Are they—they can't be—the scratches!_ I launched upright, my hands flying to by back. My fingers wrapping around some of the buttons that lined the back of my dress, I tried mostly in vain to get them undone.

"Wha—What are you doing?" I ignored the alarmed tone in his voice. _Yeah, now you get upset. Idiot. _

"Help me with these!" I snapped at him, popping a few more buttons open. When he hesitated, as if frightened, I whirled my face around to glare at him once again over my shoulder. "The scratches! The mirror gave me scratches! I need to see if they're still there!" He withdrew into himself, his eyes shifting like a cornered animal.

"Mam'selle, it is not right, I—" _Stupid man_!

"Don't give me any of your goddamned politeness shit! Just get your ass over here and undo these!" He quickly crossed the room, his nimble fingers flying down the back of my dress until it exposed my back, the corset and slip I was wearing still in my way. I roughly undid the laces, positive he wasn't going to help me. He backed away, proving my thought to be correct. Holding the front of the dress firmly in place with one hand, I pulled down the back of my slip with the other, feeling across my back. Sure enough, I felt my fingers slide over raised scratches, mostly healed. I had attributed all of my pain to the work I had been doing, I had hardly felt them, their pain didn't compare to the steady ache in my muscles. A startled cry burst from my throat, they were absolute proof that I wasn't living in a dream, hallucination, whatever_. They came from Jonathan! I can't be dreaming them too—Oh my God! This fucking place is real!_ I knew it before, but had absolutely _clung_ somewhere in the back of my head to the desperate hope that it wasn't true….I felt a few tears brim in my eyes, I fought them back ferociously, refusing to cry in front of him. I crumpled where I stood, shoving my arms back into the sleeves of my dress, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Hugging myself, I wiped my eyes clear of the threatening tears, and inhaled deeply_. Ok, so I really am somehow in the past. Right. I can handle this, I'll be fine. I can do this…_I exhaled, straightening. The enormity of the problem, though, was crushing.

"I can't do this," I whispered into my arms, covering my eyes with the palms of my hands.

"You will not do it alone." I jumped, having forgotten he was even there. Twisting around, I stared at him with wide, red eyes.

"You're going to help me?" He nodded, slowly, his eyes sincere behind the black mask. Not caring who he was, what he was, anything, just that he was going to help me, I leapt up and threw my arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. I felt him tense beneath me, his breathing shallow at first, and then not at all, as he was holding his breath.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…"

"Mademoiselle—" His voice gritty, I abruptly released him, a little embarrassed.

"Sorry…but thank you." He gave me a curt, rigid nod.

"It is late. Another time we will discuss this," He turned to leave, but I caught his arm, once again feeling him tense up under my touch. I let go, realizing that he didn't like to be touched.

"When? I don't get off until midnight,"

"Midnight it is then." His voice seemed strangled and tight. He spun on his heel and vanished out the door. I exhaled sharply, realizing how tense _I_ was. Swinging back onto my bed, I placed the rest of the uneaten food onto my little bedside table, locking the door, and hauled off my dress. But although I was physically and emotionally exhausted, I had difficulty getting to sleep that night.


	21. Indebted to Her

21

"Indebted to Her"

Practically running down the passage that lead underneath the opera house, he felt the adrenaline shove through his veins, his breathing still shallow and uneven. Finally getting there, he found his hands still shaking. Shocked and unnerved to the core, he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to truly comprehend how he had managed to keep his cool before her. _She touched me! Not merely a touch either, but an embrace! How is this possible?_ His head swimming, he stopped pacing to drop himself into a chair, trying to collect himself. He mentally reviewed all that had happened, since she had walked into the room with her arms filled with food to when he had practically flung himself out the door to escape her. _How did it happen? One minute we were talking, the next, arguing, and then she was embracing me!_ Breathing deeply to try to calm his nerves, he wondered at her strange mood fluctuations. She had been playful and teasing, angry, sullen, depressed and practically crying, and then excited to the point she had exuberantly embraced him. _She makes no sense…All women are mad_.

His mind shifted to how she had suddenly started tearing off her dress, he had been enraptured and severely confused at the same time, his body wanting her to take it off, his mind not being able to figure out why. _It certainly wouldn't have been a reaction to me._ He chuckled grimly. _Then how she spoke to me! _He had frozen, not knowing whether to watch or flee out of confusion and common decency. It certainly would have been inappropriate for him to be in the same room with her while she was undressing, he thought at first it was a strange custom from her home that he wasn't familiar with. So, not knowing what to do, he had merely stood there, confused, intrigued, embarrassed and nervous. _"Don't give me any of your goddamned politeness shit! Just get your ass over here and undo these!"_ No one_, no one_, had _ever_ spoken to him like that. _Ever_. And he very much doubted that if he really were still as insane as he had been, he would have tolerated it. Anger had overcome him, he still wasn't sure why she wanted her dress down, but if she demanded he take it off, then by hell, he would show her! Undoing the buttons, his anger most likely would have driven him to tearing the rest of the dress off of her if she hadn't pulled slightly away. He remembered himself then, and along with it, sudden shame in what he had been tempted to do. Something about her brash, commanding manner he had found darkly attractive. Wary of this, the possessive want that had driven him to his madness in the past, he backed away, wanting then only to escape. She had broken down in front of him then, and he had watched her, bewildered yet again. The strong, willful woman had disappeared, leaving behind a hysterical mess. It was only then that he truly comprehended the truth of her claims. Her technology had been convincing, certainly, but he couldn't get past his suspicion that it was somehow a trick. When he had seen her utter despair though, the soft whisper of "I can't do this," he realized that it was no trick, no lie. _Only a scared young woman, alone. Alone like me_. Only then wanting to end her fear, sorrow, misery, he had comforted her in the only way he could think of, offering his help. He had not expected her reaction, and certainly not the intensity of it.

His mind shifted to the embrace, how she had pressed her face into the fabric round his neck, her arms wrapped around him as tightly as they could. He remembered the feel of her breath against him, the way her hands had slightly ruffled the hair that ran down his neck to his high collar_. Incredible_…he closed his eyes, pulling all the feelings back, trying to relive the moment. _It was like she cared_. If he pretended enough, he could almost trick himself into believing it had been real, that there had been real emotions behind it. His eyes snapped open, suddenly. _No, it wasn't real. She doesn't care about you, she just wants to use you! Fool! You let a woman control you, use you _again_! Idiot, stupid, stupid, foolish man! Tell her no! Don't let her do to you what Christine did!_ Tears ran down his cheek now, he trembled slightly, pulling his knees up to his head. Resting his forehead against them, he sobbed, his mind clinging to his worthlessness and how she, like Christine, would be sure to leave him. _They all leave me, no one wants me. She will leave and forget…Just like Christine. _

His tears stopping, he snuffled into his sleeve, for once thankful he was alone for his undignified break-down. _I said I would help. I said I would meet her. I cannot, I will not. No. But I said I would, she will be expecting me. That is most unfortunate for her, then. I refuse to be dragged back into more pain. I barely survived Christine. I was going to die…I was going to die—I _was_ going to…_He had thought on his near escape from death often, it rankled deeply how very close he had come to the oblivion. So concentrated on that, though, he had barely ever thought about _why_ it didn't happen. _I was in the water, about to do it, when she pulled me back. _She_ pulled me back._ The voice he had thought was Christine's, returning to him, the one that had been Gwen's, rang through his head. Realization dawned on him. _She…saved my life. She was the one that prevented me from doing it, I was so close! _After the last few minutes of wallowing in hatred, a surge of gratitude rose in him. _I did not truly want to die…just escape the pain._ The pain that was still present, he knew, but had ebbed slightly. _Why…?_

He knew why. She had unintentionally saved him again, was continuing to save him. And in her desperation, she was giving him purpose. It had been her curious presence, her strangeness, everything about her that kept him interested, watching. All that time he had spent thinking about and watching her, he had not been focusing on his grief, the torment he had been so sure he would not survive. She lured him away from his caverns, where he would have only concentrated on his hurt, a distraction from the pain. He sat up, eyes wide. _She is not indebted to me, I am indebted to her! She has been the one keeping me away from my thoughts, away from this cursed place of darkness!_ Confusion cleared as he began to pace again, excitedly, agitatedly_. She knows not what her irritating presence does for me! Does _to_ me! She is foolish, ignorant, impulsive, loud, opinionated, and insolent, but I would not be alive without her! _He threw his head back and laughed, a loud bellowing laughter that reverberated against the cavernous walls, at the irony, how much he had despised the girl for being everything Christine was not. Now he realized how much he owed her for being Christine's opposite. She had distracted him through the worst of it, and though thoughts of his past love still cut him deeply, he was no longer in danger. He was no longer a danger to himself. Riled out of his exhaustion, and unable to sit still, he sat down squarely on the seat before his organ. Inhaling, he pressed his long fingers to the keys he had not touched since Christine's flight.

o o o o o

"Are you alright, Gwen? You seem a little out of it today." Nathaniel's voice caught me by surprise, I was jolted out of deep thought.

"Sorry, sorry. Just thinking…I guess I'm kinda tired," I gave him a weak smile and he nodded, handing me the armful of laundry he had been helping me pick up. "Ugh! And I'm so tired of other peoples' gross, sweaty clothing! Why do you offer to do this with me on your break? You should be eating or taking a nap or something," I nagged him, trying to hold my breath against the sweat and body odor that wafted off the clothing in my arms. He chuckled lightly, he was in a relatively good mood, but I could still see the strain in his eyes. He, like all the other people working in the Opera Populaire, had been pushed past his limit, and was running on sheer determination.

"But if I did that, when would I get to delight in your company?" I gave a sharp laugh at that, I knew that I had been a grump for most of the day. Worrying about meeting the Phantom later that evening had my insides bunched into knots, and as time passed, my anxiety only grew.

"We both know I'm not much of a delight, Nat," I replied dryly. He only awarded me with a knowing smile as a response, I stuck my tongue out at him. We shuffled to the laundry room, one of the places in the opera house I spent most of my time in, through a congested hall in the underbelly of the Opera Populaire. I was broken out of my task though, being grabbed from behind, a slender strong hand gripping my arm and heaving me backward. I let out a gurgle of surprise, as I was pulled against a wall and abruptly spun around to face Kathryn, dropping my load in the process.

"What the hell are you doing? You could have just said my name, Kat!" I bent angrily to pick up my load, Nathaniel hadn't seen me be nabbed and paused to glance around for me, pausing in the anecdote he had been relating.

"No! Gwen, shhh! I'm not suppos'd to be in 'ere, I'm suppos'd t' be runnin' an errand, but listen! Fauvre's back!"

"What!" I cried, a little too loudly because she snapped her hand over my mouth.

"Quiet! He was jus' in the hall a few minutes ago, tha's why I rushed to find you before he did!" Nathaniel strode over to Kathryn, perplexed at our harsh expressions and her hand clamped over my mouth.

"What is the problem?"

"Fauvre, the Inspector, he's back!" He had a similar reaction to mine, getting Kathryn's other hand pressed to his own mouth. I ripped her hand away from my face.

"And what am I supposed to do? Go hide in my room? I'll get fired, Kathryn!" She glared at me just as harshly as I was at her, put off by my rude manner towards her warning.

"I do no' know, Gwen, tha's for you t' decide, since ya won't tell me wha' happened t' you!" She bit at me, I was furious with her, with myself, and horribly guilty that I had lied, and more so that she hadn't believed it. I swung away, angrily grabbed the spilt laundry on the floor. Nathaniel said nothing, his face still being held by Kathryn, his eyes shifting in between us. Cautiously, as if afraid sudden movements might set one of us off at him, he pulled away from Kathryn. She turned despairing eyes at him, sighing, watching as I stomped down the hall to the washroom.

"I—I don't know wha' t' do, Nat. She won't tell me…"

"Tell you what, Kathryn?" She merely shook her head, her shoulders drooped as she walked away from him.

I felt sick as I threw my load into the wash, taking a pole and churning the clothes with sudden weakness. _Dammit! Here I am, all tense about the stupid Phantom, and I go off and yell at my best friend! What the hell is wrong with me? She was just trying to warn me…God, what's my problem!_ I stopped churning, leaning heavily on the pole. _And he's back, he's back. What am I going to do?_ He wouldn't forget the injuries I had given him, nor the arrival of my savior. _He's not an idiot, even if he is the worst man on the planet…he's going to connect us, I'll be dragged into his questioning room, probably at the police department, where not even Erik can save me…Erik…_His name seemed to stem the flow of desolation in me a little, giving me some sense of comfort. Hearing movement behind me, I attempted to stir the laundry again, not wanting to announce my vulnerability. Nathaniel had entered, depositing his load into my tub. I tried to give him a smile of thanks, but failed miserably. Apparently not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face into his chest, welcoming whatever comfort he could give me.

"You will not do this alone, Gwen," His words soft, meant to be comforting, I was reminded of the same comfort I had been given the night before_. No, I won't be doing this alone…_


	22. Easier When I Did Not Care

22

"Easier When I Did Not Care…"

A harsh, sneering voice conversed with the panicked ones he knew to be the managers' voices. Recognizing the arrogant tone, the former Phantom waited outside of their office, secreted in shadow, to name the source. He didn't have to see the man, the managers gave his identity away.

"Inspector! We are so very grateful you have returned to us! So very grateful!" Firmin's nervous French rang out. "We were afraid you would not, Monsieur! Not that we would blame you at all, such unfortunate circumstances, yours," He withheld a cruel chuckle, the circumstances in which Fauvre had left were appropriate and deserving, indeed. His mood, though, was altogether ugly, he had been certain the Inspector would not return, the problem taken care of. Only more complications were evident now, the man now knew he existed for sure.

"What are you blabbering about, Firmin?" The Inspector shot nastily.

"Well…Monsieur Inspector…you see, the gala. We have planned a gala, hoping to increase business. But we were so confident you would not return to us, we invited some other guests as well…"

"Guests?" _Guests?_

"Yes, er, in light of your departure, Andre and I, Monsieur, well, realized what a problem we have with this…er…this _creature_, that calls himself the Phantom. We rather thought that we should increase the bounty again. Well, this, you see, brought many interested investigators, and we thought it would be, uh, polite, to invite them to the gala."

"You hired bounty hunters!? _I am a high-ranking officer in the French police!_ Do you think me _incompetent_, Monsieurs?!"

"No, no, no! Of course not! We—we were just worried, you see, Inspector, the Phantom often shows himself at performances and galas! What better time for his capture!" He lightly snorted under his breath. _Idiots. Even if it were a good plan, to discuss it in the Opera Populaire? I control the Opera Populaire! I know of everything that occurs here! _

"Fine!" Fauvre snapped, livid. "If I cannot _tell_ you how unnecessary their presence is here, then I will _show_ you! _I_ will be the one to capture your monster, and I will not let the rest of those _fools_ get in my way!" He heard a chair crashing to the floor and ducked away, only seconds before the Inspector slammed out of the office. As the man stormed down the hall, it gave him only slight amusement to see one of the man's arms in a cast, various bandages on his head and face, and a splint on his leg. _He must have gotten much of that when falling against the stage, and then off of it… _Retreating to one of the places he normally liked to think, Box Five, he seated himself, not worried about being interrupted. No one, with the exclusion of the firebrand, had willingly entered the Box, too afraid to be attacked by a vicious spirit. He sat back in his seat, crossing his legs, his eyes flickering over the rehearsal on the stage below. _Things have gotten worse indeed. Our dear Inspector is back, now with a whole flock of fools to dog my steps and bite at my heels…_It would be better to merely hide from them, to give them no evidence of his existence, and wait for them to tire and leave._ But I cannot do that. I have…commitments. _His thoughts settled on his word to the firebrand. _Gwen_. He mentally scolded himself. _Excellent. Look where you have gotten yourself. Entangled again. Idiot, fool. Now you can not even hide to save your own skin. Not that it is worth saving…_He sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead that was uncovered by the mask. _It was easier when I did not care. _

He was returning to a nearby passage nearly an hour later when a blur of motion flew past him, his muscles froze, startled and horrified that he could have been seen. Leaning around the corner, he saw the retreating form of the English woman, Kathryn, jogging down the hall. _What is she doing?_ Curiosity peaked, he followed carefully, not willing to risk the possibility of being seen again. Drawing near to where she must have stopped, he quickly hid himself away, there were others in the hall.

"What the hell are you doing? You could have just said my name, Kat!" Gwen's familiar voice rose above the general din in the hall.

"No! Gwen, shhh! I'm not suppos'd to be in 'ere, I'm suppos'd t' be runnin' an errand, but listen! Fauvre's back!"

"What!"

"Quiet! He was jus' in the hall a few minutes ago, tha's why I rushed to find you before he did!"

"What is the problem?" The voice of the lead male joined them, and he compressed a pang of annoyance at the man's presence.

"Fauvre, the Inspector, he's back!"

"And what am I supposed to do? Go hide in my room? I'll get fired, Kathryn!"

"I do no' know, Gwen, tha's for you t' decide, since ya won't tell me wha' happened t' you!"

"I—I don't know wha' t' do, Nat. She won't tell me…" Gwendolyn had apparently left the other two, the English woman's voice despondent.

"Tell you what, Kathryn?" He didn't get a response, as the woman left him, striding right past their eavesdropper's hidden form. _Where did Gwen run off to?_ Seeking her, he trailed the young man, whose arms were filled with laundry. There was no door to the laundry room, and positioning himself at an angle to the entrance, he could watch what occurred within. Gwendolyn was hunched over a pole used to stir the laundry, her head dropped. The young lead dumped his load into the wash tub, and stood awkwardly for a few moments before embracing her. A prickle of jealousy ran along his spine, and he glowered at the pair as she turned into the embrace, shaking her head.

"You will not do this alone, Gwen," Ignoring the lead, he focused his attention to the girl in Romeo's arms. _No, she will not_.


	23. I Don't Need You

23

"I Don't Need You"

I had successfully avoided the Inspector all day, keeping to mostly the washroom and backstage. Despite my slight pride at not seeing him, I also hadn't seen Kathryn since we fought in the hall. Nathaniel, I suspected, had tried to put in a few good words for me over dinner, but she had left as soon as I came, saying that she had to see her daughter. Without her by my side, the day had become progressively longer, and the extra hours didn't help. I was barely accomplishing anything by the time midnight dragged itself forward, I had been polishing the same prop sword for a good forty minutes. My mood officially in the crapper, I couldn't care less about my imminent meeting with my Phantom associate. My humor was so dismal that I actually would have preferred not seeing him, wanting to continue being alone to nurse my rotten mood.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," His voice floated to my ears as I pushed open the door to my room, locking it. _No such luck. Yep, life hates me…Well, 'what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger'._ I told myself, and attempted to smile at him. My heart wasn't in it, I managed a lopsided smirk instead. _Whatever_.

"Evening," I returned, flopping down on my bed. Lying on my back, I rolled my heavy head to the side to look at him where he was seated. Despite how crappy I was feeling, a small smile touched at my lips at the air of dignity that surrounded him, he was so severe that it amused me. _Someone takes themselves seriously…_His posture was leisurely, but not entirely relaxed_. He looks like a cat about to leap into the air…_muscles tensed and ready. He, like normal, wore all black, and like the night before, he wore a black mask that covered all but his mouth and chin. "What's up?"

"'What's up'?" He repeated, his lips curling down into a disdainful, if perplexed, scowl. Vaguely amused, I smirked at him.

"It means 'how are things', or 'how are you'."

"Ah. Well, as you no doubt have heard, things are not well. Our dear Inspector has decided to rejoin us,"

"I know." I scowled nastily, my hand involuntarily touching the bruise on my chin.

"However, that is not the worst news." My eyes flicked up to him, wary.

"How could it get any worse?"

"Bounty hunters. Those two fools that run my theater have hired them. They are attending the gala, and will most likely begin their hunt for me there." I mulled over his news. _It's bad for him…bad for me indirectly._ I was now officially connected to him, he was my best and only ally in my search for a way home, and Fauvre experienced him first hand coming to my rescue. News would most likely travel amongst the other hunters, and then most likely to the rest of the theater, and while he could hide from them, I couldn't_. I couldn't run, I have no idea where to go, hardly any money! And my only chance to get home is here, somewhere! They'd arrest me, throw me in prison for the rest of my life…My God, spending the rest of my life in another time in another country in _prison I re-met his gaze, his eyes hard and cold in the muted light my lone lamp provided.

"So what do we do?" Suddenly frightened he would abandon me, my voice was hardly louder than a whisper. As if sensing my fears, he leaned forward in his seat, trying to calm them.

"I will not leave you, that you do not have to fear. It seems," And he stood, beginning to pace, "that I owe you my gratitude. I wish not to go into details," His voice hardened, no longer the comforting, lulling tones it had been merely a moment before. His pacing quickened as well, and I became a little nervous because of it. Clothed in his traditional suit, and sweeping black cloak, the dark mask adding to the image, he was rather intimidating. "But you have granted me a kindness, however unintentionally, that I hold in rather high esteem and will not forget. Therefore…I pledge to you my loyalty." Having no idea what the hell he was talking about, I merely nodded as he swung his harsh gaze over his shoulder to fix on me. _He sounds like a knight or something, "I pledge my loyalty…". Right._ The whole thing was said with such an awkward tone that I was thoroughly confused. Deciding to leave it be, I continued. _He's going to help me, though he won't tell me why. Fine, I can deal with that. _

"Um, thanks. I really appreciate it, really. Ok. So the problem is that I need to find out how in the hell to get home, and I need to do it without getting thrown in jail or something by Fauvre and his troop of bounty hunters. Easy, no problem…"

"I do not believe that the other bounty hunters will be working with Fauvre. As I understood it, he was quite upset that the managers hired competition."

"Ok, that kind of helps," _At least they might not share their information_.

"Tell me about the evening you arrived." His command broke me out of thought, and I turned to flash him a scowl of annoyance.

"I already told you about it,"

"You stopped right in the middle. You said you were being cut by your mirror as you were being pushed into it. Then what?" I sighed, having to summon the ugly memories again.

"The mirror cut my back, I remember falling…and then the next thing I can remember was hitting the floor. Here, at the opera." His gloved hand cupped his chin as he seated himself again, resting on his arm.

"You fell…hit the floor here. You said you landed in glass?"

"Yes…from the mirror."

"The mirror…" His last statement barely even a whisper, I had difficulty hearing him. Then, he abruptly launched himself to his feet to resume his pacing.

"It cannot be a coincidence. Two mirrors, one here, one there. What did the mirror at your home look like?" His odd question caught me by surprise, I wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"I…it looked old. It was an antique, we picked it up at this small shop in the middle of no nowhere. Why?" My answer apparently not good enough for him, he shook his head, and stopped pacing. Then with speed that startled me into recoiling, he strode over to me, his hands grasping my shoulders tightly. His eyes now only a good six inches away from mine, they seemed to bore into my brain, as if trying to dig out any information that he might find useful.

"No. What did it look like, _exactly_?" I leaned away, unnerved, unable to go far because of his grasp on my shoulders. Though I wasn't allowing myself to be, I could see how people would be afraid of him in the dark, everything about him spoke of a predator, someone adapted for pain, killing. He moved with a stealthy grace that was either inherent, or trained over the years. He had a tall, if lean, frame, but one could clearly see the power behind it, and the intent in each of his movements. Though I could see nothing of his face, his voice and eyes easily expressed threat when he wished, and the mask only added to his daunting image. Trying not to concentrate on his frightening intensity, I fumbled out an answer.

"It was about five feet tall, had a golden, intricately carved frame that I thought looked like something Louis the 14th might have hanging on his walls…It looked French." The statement caused the conclusion, the one that he had been after, hit me like a sack of bricks. "You think it was the mirrors?" He backed away, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Those were my sentiments, yes. The mirror you describe sounds similar to, if not the same as, the one that hung in the entrance hall on the second floor. I do not believe out of coincidence." I chewed my lip, wondering if he was correct.

"But…how is that possible?" My question, a stupid one I should have realized, caused him to give a rough bark of laughter, and he whirled on heel to give me an appraising stare.

"How is _any_ of it possible, mademoiselle? Does the fact that it relates to mirrors make it seem any more impossible? People simply do not travel through time every day, but it cannot be denied that you are here, and have." I grunted sourly, a little embarrassed that I had asked such an idiotic question. "We cannot be positive that it was the mirrors, though. Did anyone see you fall from the mirror, perhaps? Is there anyone who would know of this incident?" I stretched my memory backwards, my brows knitting in concentration, as I tried to draw forth anyone who could tell me anything.

"No…the first person who found me was…" _Raoul_. _He saw me at some point, I don't know if he saw me fall._ I sucked in my breath, nervous of telling the masked man in my room what I thought needed to be done. _He probably hates Raoul more than anyone else on this planet, and for him, that's a lot of hatred…I doubt he's liked anyone, ever, besides Christine Daae_. Still chewing on my lip, I slowly brought my eyes up to meet his, which narrowed at me suspiciously. I didn't know what exactly to ask him, but Raoul had been the only one who saw me. _He would know. And I have to know too…_

"…Monsieur—Phantom," I couldn't call him by his actual name, I knew my question alone would set him off. _At least he promised he wouldn't leave me_… "Is Raoul de Chagny still the Opera Populaire's patron?" At the name of his rival, he seemed to writhe slightly, his eyes and mouth twisted in a wrathful grimace. His hands twitched as well, and it wasn't too difficult for me to imagine them around Raoul's noble neck.

"_Yes_." He hissed, seething. _If he is still the patron, he will no doubt be attending the gala. Most likely no doubt. The managers will have of course invited him, he paid for everything, he's the reason this place is even reopening, they owe him. He will be their most honored guest. The Opera Populaire is celebrating its rebirth, how could he not come?_ The Phantom was still hunching and twisting his form, his hate seemed to fill the room. But my mind was made up, I had to know as much as I could.

"I'm going to the gala." He whirled around to face me, his eyes wide and mouth working in a blunt mixture of shock, anger, and slight horror.

"What! You cannot!" I set my jaw, hands on my hips as I sat up, hoping that he wouldn't go crazy, but kind of expecting it. He restrained himself though, his emotions only evident by his expression, body language, the very air around him…_everything_.

"I have to. Raoul was the first person to see me, he might have seen me fall. If he's going to be here, in the Opera Populaire, I _have_ to talk to him. It's my only chance to find out if what we think is true! Otherwise, how will we know!?" I earnestly pled my case, but as he began his enraged pacing again, my hopes began to fall. _He's blinded by his hate, he refuses to understand that I need this! _

"Absolutely not. You are _not_ going, you have no _idea_ how to interact with those people. You will get run out of the Opera Populaire immediately. Fired. Commoners do not attend the functions of nobility, and _you_ are a commoner," He turned to give me a contemptuous sneer. "Think of your manners, you have no sense of propriety or decency! No idea of etiquette! That is how I was able to pinpoint you _immediately_ as being different! You are crass, ignorant, loud, and certainly not delicate! Just look at you! Even _now_ you are covered in grease and dirt." His sharp laugh had a biting edge, and I grit my teeth bitterly, my own temper rising.

"I'm going! I don't care if I stick out or even get fired! He will talk to me if I can just get to him!"

"You will never make it." His cold confidence in the matter was the final straw.

"Fine! If you're so sure that I can't, then why don't _you_ come with me and show me how! I don't even know how you know, you're not exactly Mr. Social! You probably don't and are just saying that to piss me off!" Once again with a burst of unexpected speed, his face was mere inches from mine, his entire countenance threatening and furious.

"You think I cannot? I have observed every nuance, _every_ mannerism of the nobility in this opera house for nearly fifteen years! I could amalgamate with them so entirely, they would never, _ever_, tell otherwise!" I withheld a smile, realizing exactly how to play him_. His pride is the key_. No longer intimidated, I leaned forward so that he was but a breath away, our eyes locked.

"So you say. But I don't _need_ you, I can do it on my own." His body practically shook with his barely controlled fury, he threw himself away from me, his normally smooth, quiet voice booming.

"No you cannot! You cannot go alone! Women always are to have an escort! You _do_ need me!" His back to me, he hunched over in an effort to control his livid anger. Grinning evilly at his back, my eyes glittered with triumph.

"Then you're coming with me?" My quiet question was enough to finally break his control.

"YES!" Bolting into his full height, he gripped at the air, as if trying to crush it or strange it in his hands, snarling viciously. _But he's at least keeping to his corner_. I had thought that his anger would terrify me, but instead, it only fueled my smugness as he grappled with an invisible foe. Foe defeated, he whirled, gnashing his teeth at me in yet to be controlled anger. "I realize I do not have much of a choice, _do I_? You risk everything, _both of us_, in this foolish venture! Fauvre will find you, you will be forced to tell what you know of me, you know too much! I _cannot_ allow you to put us both in danger! You realize how terribly selfish you are, Gwendolyn? Incessantly refusing the needs of others just to meet your own ends?" By 'others', I figured he meant himself, and while I _was_ using him, he _had_ offered his help.

"Said the pot to the kettle! At least I'm not dropping chandeliers on people!" I snapped back. _How dare he accuse me of being selfish! He's such a hypocrite! His entire life, he's thought of no one but himself! Except perhaps his precious idiot Christine Daae! And even that was about him, his need to possess, to be accepted! Ugh! _The insult apparently hit home, and stung, he fell bitterly silent, seething, knowing he had lost.

"You do not have anything to wear!" It was the last stroke of a drowning man. _Oh, you're not getting out of this!_

"I'll manage." I replied firmly, knowing exactly what I would wear. Hoping that I would have panicked and abandoned the idea because of that, he floundered, nothing else to say. Whipping his hand into the air, he thrust his finger at me, as if hoping it would offend me the way he had been offended.

"We _will_ discuss this further! We have much planning to do! And you will need a _staggering_ amount of instruction if you intend to succeed." With that last parting shot, he flew from the room, his normally light footsteps stomps on the wooden floors.

o o o o o

Needing something to release his rage on, he throttled a sandbag in the flies, punching and tearing at it until ripped open, its contents raining down to the empty stage. _Arrogant girl! Stupid, foolish, _stupid_ girl! How dare she! How dare she insult _me Thrusting the empty, mangled bag away from him, he paced the flies, finally grabbing another one while he continued to vent. _This will never work! She will be noticed immediately! How can she not see how she endangers us both! Oh no, she realizes, she _sees_! She _chooses_ this none the less! If she did not have so much to lose by this as well I would swear it is a trap for me! We will be swarmed by bounty hunters, there is no way to avoid it! I will have to wear my mask, I will be easily identified! Oh, how I _hate_ her! _There he paused, his pacing halted. The usual surge of raw hate that accompanied that thought did not surface. His anger was momentarily put aside as he analyzed the thought, probing his emotions further to see if they matched. _I…do not hate her. I do not. Even now. _He grimly thought back to his feelings earlier, before their meeting, and how greatly he had been looking forward to it_. I actually might _like_ the girl. Might. I have never liked anyone. Did I even like Christine? I truly thought I loved her, but I hardly knew enough about her to _like_ her._ His anger swelled again as he limply sat down on a hanging catwalk, hanging his legs over the side as it gently rocked_. What a fool I am! Brainless fool! Have I learned nothing? Once again beginning to care about someone when they will do nothing but punish me for it! This is truly awful! _Terrible_! I cannot care about anyone! I _refuse_ to be bewitched into caring again!_ Exasperated and emotionally drained, he flopped to his side and rolled onto his back, staring at the rope-lined ceiling. _I do not hate her, I hate myself._ Groaning into his hands, he covered his face, wishing he could just disappear.


	24. Crash Course in Nobility

24

"Crash Course in Nobility"

"You're going t' the gala?" Kathryn's exclamation had cut through the general hum of conversation in the theater, everyone trying to get the Opera Populaire in perfect condition for the masquerade in two days. I had apologized to her profusely, entrusting her with at least one of my multitude of secrets. No one from our station was allowed to attend, we were to be working, even the performers were on a tight schedule. She was startled to say the least, but mostly curious why I was going. I told her a strange version of the truth, that I was going to see Vicompte Raoul de Chagny. When she asked why though, I had to lie. I told her I was in love with him. She had been even more startled at that, questions pouring from her mouth as she savored the news. And, my untruth salved another quarrel between us; why I hadn't told her of the Inspector's abuse. "You want t' be able t' tell your Vicompte tha' you 'ave never been touched by another man! It all makes sense now!" Had been her conclusion, I, though confused, readily accepted it. "So what do ya plan on doin'? Runnin' to 'im and professin' your love like some kind of street trash?" She had taken in my dirty outfit, my greasy hair and smudges of cleaner on my cheeks. Almost motherly, though she was younger than me, she patted me on the hand, soothingly. "Now don' you worry. The nobility takes mistresses all the time, and you can be very pretty when yer all washed up! I'll help you…"

That evening, though we were both exhausted, we went through my clothing, finally coming to the gorgeous white gown that we had discovered with the other clothes. Pulling it out, Kathryn held it against my body. Clicking her tongue, she eyed it.

"Hm. Hope you haven' gained weight. This's gonna be a tigh' squeeze…"

"Wow, thanks," I glared at her, stripping off my outer clothing so I could put on the gown. Slipping into it, Kathryn helped me with the hundreds of buttons running up my back. Once fully on, I twisted around, trying to measure my comfort level. Frowning slightly, I looked at Kathryn, almost confused.

"Actually…it fits better. I guess all that shitty work actually _helped_…" Squeezing at my hips, which was the place I tended to get chub, I looked myself over in the hand mirror Kathryn had brought. "Not half bad." She laughed, stroking at the soft lace sleeve.

"You look jus' brilliant, Gwen. It's gonna be hard for you no' t' be noticed by your Vicompte now." She beamed at me, and then suddenly frowned.

"What?"

"Your hair."

"What about my hair?" Involuntarily, my hands when to my head, picking at stray hairs. Kathryn, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, ran her hands through my floofy hair, watching critically as it poofed back into place. After playing with it for a few minutes, she frowned.

"I'll have t' do somethin' about tha'. Don' worry, you're safe with me," She winked at me, but I still felt about nervous about what she was planning. Helping me get out of the gown, we hung it over my chair.

- - -

The remaining days passed quickly and peacefully enough. I hadn't conversed with the Phantom since our last meeting, and was wondering when he exactly meant to "discuss" the gala. He hadn't even left me a note, and figured that I should give him time to get over his anger at the idea, but I was getting a little anxious. But, nor had I, luckily, run into the Inspector. The scratches from the incident had healed, only the occasional red mark on my back indicating they were ever there at all. My bruising had faded some, only a light brownish-yellow mark remained, and I had enough concealer left to cover it. I had been trying to preserve the make up that was in my purse as long as possible. Poking at my light bruise in the mirror, I praised my foresight. I had never been confident about my appearance, acne combined with freckles during my adolescence had seen to that. Therefore, make up had become my best friend and most hated enemy over the last ten years of my life, and while it had been liberating over the past weeks to be free of it, I couldn't shake my tendency to feel that I looked like I had "been run over by an 18 wheeler, and then dragged through gravel for two hours", as I once described it to a confused Kathryn.

It was the night before the day of the gala, and the excitement and anxiety by that point had combined into a great big blob of emotion within me, it was uncomfortable. _Maybe I should leave him a note in the Box? But_ _when do we have the time to discuss it? _The gala was tomorrow evening, and I had to work all day before. _And it's not like he's around during the day…Oh well. I guess that means that I won't have to have a crash course in nobility after all, heh._

I was mistaken though, when I woke, I discovered a note had been shoved under my door during the night, my name scrawled on the back in a familiar script, a red wax skull imprinted onto the paper. _Ugh. What now?_ Wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I quickly read the note.

_6:30 AM in Box Five. Come alone._

_O.G._

I rolled my eyes. _The man is so dramatic. Must be from living along in an opera house half of his lifetime. He's not used to dealing with people, and doesn't even know when he's being over the top. That must be how he actually is, he hasn't learned anything about real social interactions. Sure, he knows manners and stuff, but conversation? He's not so hot at holding one. Hm…He can show me how to keep up in Victorian society, but I can show him how not to offend every single person he comes across, heh. It all works out… _The early hour still bothered me though, I didn't want to get up any earlier than necessary. I grumbled while shuffling into my work clothes, not at all pleased about the time of place_. Box Five might be great if we were just sitting there silent in the dark, but we can't talk without someone hearing, they're practicing on the freaking stage! _Making a mental note to reprimand him for choosing such a bad place, I headed to the stage hall for Box Five.

Taking care not to be seen or heard, I crept into the Box, glancing around for my ghostly "date".

"Hello?" I whispered, feeling a little stupid. The box was darkened, the gas lamps within weren't lit, as it was not currently being used. The stage lights had been lit though, the company was rehearsing. Slightly annoyed, I decided to wait for him. I climbed the few steps into the Box, tripping on the last step. I landing roughly on the wooden arm of a chair and cursed as vehemently as I could under my breath.

"Such language for a lady," The Phantom's baritone rippled out of the shadows, I choked over a gasp in surprise, trying not to cry out and give us away. I stood from my toppled position on the chair, and rubbed at my side, glaring through the dim light at the far seat from which the voice had sounded. Sure enough, I could see his shape, he had chosen the darkest corner of the Box to situate himself. I growled, carefully seating myself beside him, a little embarrassed and a lot irritated.

"Why didn't you say anything when I called?" I snapped, glaring at the shadow and black mask that compiled the Phantom's form. He remained silent, not bothering to answer my question. "Fine. Whatever. Do you really intend to 'teach' me all about the aristocracy here? In this Box?" He didn't answer my question again, just abruptly stood. Holding a gloved hand out to me, he finally spoke.

"Come."

"Where are we going?" He once again ignored the question, and I grumpily gave him my hand, thinking that he was the last person in the world who should teach etiquette. With a quickened pace, he lead me back into the winding halls of the Opera Populaire, finally reaching a wooden staircase. He pulled me upward, we continued climbing staircase after staircase until we had reached a trapdoor pressed into the ceiling.

"Wha—" Was all I got out before he shoved it open, revealing the brisk air of the early Parisian morning. "We're on the roof?" I wondered aloud, allowing him to help me up through the trapdoor. I shivered, cold air seemed to creep through every seam and stitch in my dress. _He should have told me to bring a shawl or something if he was intending to bring me up here…_Moderately irritated, I wrapped my arms around myself, turning towards the man who had lead me up here.

"Ok, we're on the roof. Good choice, it's only freezing up here…Now what, since you're making all the plans?" He flashed me an annoyed look. Then striding over to me, he swept off his cloak with a flourish, draping it over my shoulders, revealing a lean, wiry build. The action was completely unexpected, and left me entirely speechless for a moment. He sneered at me though, his eyes lingering on my suddenly abashed face.

"Plans are necessary. And as of this moment, you will pay close attention. I am doing this out of rare generosity, and will not tolerate your lip. The plan is simply that I will meet you at the base of the Grand Staircase at eight o'clock sharp. I must insist that you are not late, I am not a patient man, and punctuality is a virtue." I snorted, rolling my eyes. _He's right about not being patient at least…_He saw my gesture, and his voice gained a sharper edge. "You will realize that I am doing this purely for your benefit. Personally, I believe this idea of yours to be rash and foolish. Now, we will quickly find that idiot fop, you will speak to him, and we will leave. Is that understood?" I sighed. _How_ _is it that he knows exactly how to get to me? I deal with sexism every day, but this?_

"Yeah, sure. Eight o'clock, don't be late or you'll flip a shit. Got it. Are we done here?" Now my patience was wearing thin, and I knew that soon people would wonder where I was. He grunted, just as irritated as me.

"No, we are not done. We've yet to discuss your behavior."

"My behavior?"

"Of course. There are unspoken rules that dictate every move you make in a gathering such as this. And by the way you slump around the opera house, I can tell that you are unaware of all of them." I opened my mouth to supply a nasty retort, but he cut me off, continuing. "Wellborn ladies are always to be graceful and soft, delicate and demure," He began to pace, ticking off the attributes on his long fingers. "They must always be accompanied by an escort, in your case, myself. They are led by the man. Therefore, you do as I say." I pursed my lips at that, it seemed like I had to be completely dependent on him, and wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"I don't think so. I will take your advice, guidance, whatever, but I'm not just going to _roll over_ and do what you say. I have a brain, and would like to point out that _I'm_ the one who has to talk to Raoul, not you." I was in fact a little worried about that, I didn't trust my Phantom companion to control himself when confronting the very man that stole his love away from him. As reserved as he appeared to be now, I knew already that he had a ferocious temper just beneath the surface. He paused in his pacing, pointing a finger at me.

"You see, and _that_ will be your downfall. You are entirely _too_ stubborn and headstrong. You just say anything that comes into your head, it is—it is—unladylike! It might be acceptable for young ladies in the _lower classes_ to have a biting tongue, but the noblesse will not tolerate it. So, for _both_ of our sakes, shut your mouth, woman!" I stared at him, speechless, not believing he had actually said that to me. But he continued, now smug. "That is better, the most vital lesson is that women must always know their place. And generally, that place insists that they remain _silent_."

"What!" I yelped, indignant. "That's it, I'm leaving." Preparing to shuck his cloak, I started to brush past him towards the trapdoor. His gloved hands caught my shoulders, though, whirling me back around. Instead of leaving me on my feet though, I continued to fall backwards, until caught by an arm. He was actually grinning down at me as I was dipped, I unattractively scrunched my face up at him in response.

"Next lesson, do you dance?"

"You did that on purpose!" I stabbed him in the chest with my finger, he was actually chuckling.

"Merely attempting to prove my point. You are easily riled, and you must not be. This is a different time, Gwendolyn, and if you wish to return to yours, you must learn to keep your head." He continued to laugh, I softened slightly hearing the resonating sound, trying not to smile myself, but giving up a silly one.

"I'll never forgive you. And yes, I do dance." _I love to dance…_He lifted me out of the dip, twirling me gently. I was fairly impressed as he lead me through a series of steps, he was far more graceful than he had been recently, stomping around my room. We seemed to click pretty well, and I was actually picking up the steps fairly quickly. It was strange, uncharacteristic of him to be so…_pleasant_. Curious, I played along. But finally, I couldn't contain it anymore.

"Um, question. Did you really drag me out of bed at 6:30 to the roof to dance?" I was actually having a good time, and was afraid with the question it might end, but I had to know. It was so out of the character I had thought I understood, and it seemed like a new Erik was unfolding before me. He had actually smiled slightly while we danced, and it was…interesting. I couldn't see most of his face, he was wearing his normal black mask that covered everything but his eyes, mouth and chin. The mouth quirked in what I was coming to recognize as "slightly irritated Phantom". We kept dancing, but suddenly didn't seem to click quite as well, and I regretted asking.

"No. Dancing is an extremely important social quality, and because we are attending a gala, in which there will be dancing, it was vital for me to evaluate your ability." He then released me, I stumbling backwards slightly, and I couldn't help feeling a bit rejected. _Meh_. _You should have realized, Gwen. It's in his nature to be a jerk. Don't forget it. _

"Fine, did I meet your standard?" He shrugged indifferently, folding his arms across his chest.

"It will do, hopefully you will not be too noticeable. Now," Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to walk in a lazy circle around me, gaze remaining intensely on me. I awkwardly turned to keep his eyes, wrapping the cloak tighter around me, almost defensively. As he circled, I was distinctly reminded of a vulture. "I have observed that women are to take small steps, as to accentuate their natural grace. On your part, I suggest you just concentrate on walking and not take such long, ungainly strides." He was purposely being a pompous ass, we both knew it. I had embarrassed him by bringing his unusual behavior up, and he was retaliating by being even more rigid and disdainful than ever. If it wasn't so offensive, I would think that it was almost cute. I wished heartily that I hadn't said anything, just enjoyed it, he was for some reason stepping out of his norm and I should have just appreciated it as a complimentary gesture. To the remark, I clucked my tongue, fixing him with an exceptional glare. He ignored me, still giving his "guidance". But his voice softened, almost taking a humorous tone, as if he was trying to make up for being an ass about five seconds ago. "Now, we cannot have a repetition of our second meeting, I must insist that you keep on all of your clothing. I am unaware as to the customs on this in the future, but in 1870, it is most impolite to expose yourself. Unheard of, in fact." It took me a minute to realize he was referencing when I had demanded he take off my dress, and even longer to realize he was joking. My cheeks stung bright red, and I looked away, laughing a little. _I was a little caught up in the moment…was he actually just teasing me there? How very odd…_

He became serious again, turning away and starting to once again pace. "It is considered rude for young ladies to even expose their ankles. Unmarried ladies do not take the arm of gentlemen unless they are committed to each other, and married women will only take the arms of their husbands." His voice became less smooth, as if he was struggling with a difficult thought. "…Also, though I know not of what consequence it will have for you, shows of affection are considered vulgar and brazen. So if you are planning anything with that—that—_boy_, it is—_inadvisable_—" He cut off, lips clamped into a firm, thin line, eyes unreadable. All of my irritation cleared as I stared at him, he was acting jealous. _Why would he be jealous about me? That doesn't make sense. He's in love with Christine, he practically hates me! _I eyed him, his hands were thrust into his pockets, and he was pacing more viciously, avoiding meeting my eyes. _He's so weird._ And was visibly upset, seemingly at the idea of me planning "something" with Raoul. His discomfiture disturbed me, after recovering from my spat of bewilderment, I decided to think on it later, and comfort him. I strode up to him, wringing my hands before deciding pull one of his out of his pockets. He stopped, staring at his hand in mine, and then tearing his eyes up to meet my steady, sincere gaze.

"I'm not planning anything. I only want to talk to him, find out what he knows. He saw me, I _know_ he saw me. This could be our chance. My change to get home," I grinned up at him, hopefully letting him know I was now joking, "And your chance to get rid of me." He didn't smile, but I saw a subtle change in the cloudy green eyes that gazed at me from behind the mask, they seemed to lighten. We stood like that for a moment more, and then he pulled away, still staring at me. He looked down at his now empty hands, then slowly pulled off a black leather glove. Hesitating, he raised his bare hand to my cheek, tracing a finger lightly across it, his eyes settling on mine as he did so. I didn't breathe, I didn't even really think. I felt like shivering, the touch was so light, gentle. I didn't know what was happening, the man that hated to be touched, to be seen, to even be around other people was caressing my cheek. The gesture was so utterly shocking that I was frozen, all but for the thought about how surprisingly enjoyable it was. Time dragged, I stared into his eyes, not understanding why, not wanting to. They were filled with a multitude of emotions, all blurring together in the enthralling green.

And then the moment was over, he removed his finger and held it aloft, causing me to glance down out it. To my absolute mortification, the whitened finger was now darkened by dirt. My eyes shot back up to his, all the wonderful emotion in them was gone, replaced by smug, infuriating mockery.

"Your last lesson is that cleanliness is more than just an occasional requirement. I do not know if it is valued in your time, but here, being clean is a desirable necessity," He chuckled, slightly maliciously, to himself, turning and walking away to lean on a stone horseman near the edge of the rooftop. "Something you should think about." He wiped his hand, obviously disgusted, on his pants, replacing his glove. I practically shook with anger and humiliation, deciding right then and there that I hated him. Balling my hands into furious fists, I stormed over to where he leaned indolently against the horseman.

"Listen _you_, before I got to this fucking place, I took a shower _every damn day_! It's not _my_ fault if in this stupid time they—" He spun on his heel, slapping a gloved hand over my mouth.

"Shh! Enough. Are you ever just quiet, Gwendolyn? Watch." I felt earnestly like biting his finger, but was distracted by the sudden brilliant sunshine that peaked over the edge of the rooftop. My gaze swung around, I had to blink wildly as the sun lit up the sky, streaking the clouds with vibrant oranges and pinks, yellows and golds. Underneath his hand, I sucked in my breath, the city beyond lit up. It was glorious. We stood, still as the stone gargoyles we were keeping company with, until the effect faded away, the sun still rising. He removed his hand, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes and mouth giving a fairly decent impression of an ironic expression. He was looking at me again, the smirk on his lips drained away, leaving just thoughtful eyes. I nodded to him, feeling suddenly a little awkward, and was about to leave when he spoke.

"I watch it every morning. And watch the sun set again every evening." His eyes were no longer on me, but on the vast city below. "It is comforting to me, a reminder that there is more to this world than humankind, with its cruelties, prejudices, and hate. That there is beauty that cannot be spoiled or tarnished by its touch. That even in the darkest times, there can be light." He was practically whispering, and I couldn't help staring, feeling another wave of new understanding and compassion for him. _Every time he does something that makes me crazy, he does something like this…_Our gazes locked again, and then he looked down, as if embarrassed. "Come, you must return, lest they be missing you." All the sensitivity and unusual, but disarmingly sweet depth vanished in his gruff, business-like tone. He grabbed my hand, though not entirely roughly, and led me back to the trapdoor, climbing down the ladder to the staircases below. After descending the second, the general din that was the norm in the opera house grew loud enough to announce the immediate presence of humankind, which he obviously detested.

"Can you find your way back from here?" He inquired softly, most likely to not alert anyone to our presence. I flashed him a wry smile.

"I go down. It's not a very complicated concept." I replied dryly, but smiled more broadly to lighten the words. He nodded briskly, eyes actually twinkling with humor at my response. I pulled the warm cloak from my shoulders, handing it back to him. He accepted it, and turned to leave, I felt the need to thank him, despite the fact that we had bickered throughout most of the "lesson".

"Before you go—I just wanted to say…thank you, for the," I waved my hand airily, cursing at myself mentally for falling victim to the urge. "cloak, and the lesson, and…the sunrise."_ And for trusting me with a little of you_. He paused, nodded again, and then nimbly climbed the staircase above, fading into the shadows. Turning away, I began to descend the next staircase down, my mind congested with thoughts.


	25. Blue Eyes

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

25

"Blue Eyes…"

_The roof is the best place to talk alone, people might try to fetch her if I were to go to her room, and then what would I do? Hide under the bed?_ The thought made him snort contemptuously. _A thirty-something year old man who is pretending to be a vicious ghost does not hide under a bed._ But it was unlikely she knew how to reach it, so he had stuffed a note under her door in the wee hours of the morning, too agitated to sleep. As soon as she entered the Box, she had started complaining and asking useless questions. _An irritating peculiarity of hers…most women would just be silent and do what they are told._ But despite his forced irritation, it was one of the traits that he found intriguing about her, she was not docile and fearful, she stood up for herself. _She will simply not be commanded around, she has self respect, and demands others to treat her with just as much respect. Unfortunately, in this foolish enterprise of hers, it is that very characteristic that will get her in trouble. _

As soon as she had stepped foot on the roof though, she started making waspish remarks about the cold. Knowing that he wouldn't hear the end of it, and she would be easier to deal with if not cold, he had taken off his cloak. He ignored the fact that it oddly pleased him to see her wrap herself up in it. The action at least silenced her, he took that to his advantage. He had started to calmly present the rules of the venture, in which he would have to carefully manage her to prevent them both from being caught, when she had been offended, becoming snarky yet again. _The girl is intolerable! Why does she not understand that I am doing this for her benefit, risking life and limb so she can interview a fool to gain information on her damnable mirror!_ She fidgeted, irritated, which irritated him because young ladies of the gentler nature were not to fidget._ I am not going to hold her attention long, I must get this over with as fast as possible. _

"No, we are not done. We've yet to discuss your behavior."

"My behavior?" She repeated, incredulous.

"Of course. There are unspoken rules that dictate every move you make in a gathering such as this. And by the way you slump around the opera house, I can tell that you are unaware of all of them." _She deserved that for being so difficult_. He cut her off when she opened her mouth angrily, no doubt to protest. "Wellborn ladies are always to be graceful and soft, delicate and demure." _Like Christine_. Trying to distract himself from the thought of her, he began to pace, forcing himself to focus. "They must always be accompanied by an escort, in your case, myself. They are led by the man. Therefore, you do as I say." He didn't really expect that to fly well with the girl, even in a case such as this, when it was vital_. She simply needs to realize that she must let go of her pride if this is to work. _And, as he expected, she didn't take the news well.

"I don't think so. I will take your advice, guidance, whatever, but I'm not just going to _roll over_ and do what you say. I have a brain, and would like to point out that _I'm_ the one who has to talk to Raoul, not you." He ground his teeth, and attempted not to flinch when she said the Vicompte's name. It disturbed him greatly, he found, that she spoke the name with such pleasant familiarity. Irked, he ceased his pacing and shot a finger at her.

"You see, and _that_ will be your downfall. You are entirely _too_ stubborn and headstrong. You just say anything that comes into your head, it is—" He tried to summon a negative adjective, but found he could only think of positive ones. _Fascinating, enthralling, captivating._ "It is—" _Intriguing, challenging, exciting_. "—Unladylike!" _There_. "It might be acceptable for young ladies in the _lower classes_ to have a biting tongue, but the noblesse will not tolerate it. So, for _both_ of our sakes, shut your mouth, woman!" He felt far more annoyance with himself than with her, but vented it at her none the less. Her mouth worked as she stared at him, wide eyed and stunned, and he was suddenly struck with the humor of it all. Unable to stop himself, he continued to nettle her, enjoying the reaction. _She is actually speechless._ "That is better, the more vital lesson is that women must always know their place. And generally, that place insists that they remain _silent_." It took all of his self-control to retain a blank expression, while hundreds of different expressions, all presenting her outrage and offense, flashed across her face.

"What! That's it, I'm leaving." Throwing her shoulders back, she started to plow past him, and without really much of a thought, he reached out and grabbed her, swinging her around into a low dip. The former Phantom grinned broadly down at her, she scowled viciously.

"Next lesson, do you dance?" He realized, at that point, that not only was he currently holding her, but he had been the one to initiate the contact. He had also realized as she pushed past him, that he truly did not want her to leave, despite how irksome she was. The scowl slide away from her face, eyes widened with dawning understanding. _And yet, she does not pull away._

"You did that on purpose!" _Not entirely, but the outcome is not wholly unpleasing. _She poked him in the chest, and he could not contain his growing amusement, actually chuckling.

"Merely attempting to prove my point. You are easily riled, and you must not be. This is a different time, Gwendolyn, and if you wish to return to yours, you must learn to keep your head." _Although I do not believe I am currently keeping my own. Why did I do that? And why does she not pull away in fear?_ Though he expected her to withdraw out of fear and revulsion of him at any moment, he found that he could not keep himself from feeling light, a rising elevation at her potential acceptance, however strange it was. He continued to laugh, and she actually returned a reluctant smile.

"I'll never forgive you. And yes, I do dance." Her eyes sparkled in the pre-dawn light. _I know she can dance, I can see now how much she enjoys it._ Abruptly wanting to impress her, he began to lead her through a series of steps, all masterminded to flaunt his ability. Long hours of observation over the past fifteen years had ingrained in him what to do, but he had never had an actual partner before, and the feeling was rather astonishing. Decidedly pleased that he was able to effectively perform the dances and had almost magically found a willing partner, he didn't want to stop, purposely blocking out everything, especially the past. But then she brought it back to the forefront.

"Um, question. Did you really drag me out of bed at 6:30 to the roof to dance?" He swung her around once more, the question sinking in. _There, you see? She does not want to be dancing with you. Fool, it is quite obvious you are simply taking advantage of the situation for your own purposes. Despicable behavior, she most likely detests you. Release her._ He frowned, stopping the dance. Attempting to give her a business-like explanation, he inwardly winced, nursing injured feelings, his moment of blissful delusion and hope broken.

"No. Dancing is an extremely important social quality, and because we are attending a gala, in which there will be dancing, it was vital for me to evaluate your ability." He then released her, her expression blinked surprise for a minute, and then was blank.

"Fine, did I meet your standard?" He shrugged, meandering in a circle around her.

"It will do, hopefully you will not be too noticeable. Now, I have observed that women are to take small steps, as to accentuate their natural grace. On your part, I suggest you just concentrate on walking and not take such long, ungainly strides." He was fully aware that he was being exceptionally cruel, his tone clipped and harsh. For some reason though, he felt a little hurt, and only wanted to make her feel the same way. _I am being foolish. She means nothing to me, and I mean less than nothing to her. Stop it._ She glared at him, hands on hips, and he let it go, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand and not the girl before him. "Now, we cannot have a repetition of our second meeting, I must insist that you keep on all of your clothing. I am unaware as to the customs on this in the future, but in 1870, it is most impolite to expose yourself. Unheard of, in fact." He had surprised himself by actually joking with her, it had come out of nowhere. She had the decency to blush and look away, laughing nervously under her breath. He took the interaction as encouraging, and barreled on, serious again. "It is considered rude for young ladies to even expose their ankles. Unmarried ladies do not take the arm of gentlemen unless they are committed to each other, and married women generally will only take the arms of their husbands." He shifted awkwardly, coming to the next thought. _She has not yet made her intentions toward the Vicompte known to me. Perhaps she wishes for more than just merely talking to him?_ He flushed beneath the mask, the thought angering him. _He is married, if she wishes for something with him, and acts on it, it will become most obvious that she is not of the high class._ Though he had perfect reason to warn her off expressing affection, he felt distinctly possessive, blatantly pointing out that she was not to. _He will not touch her._ "…Also, though I know not of what consequence it will have for you, shows of affection are considered vulgar and brazen. So if you are planning anything with that—that—_boy_, it is—_inadvisable_—" He cut off, angry, and despairing slightly. The thought of her clinging to the young fool made him physically nauseous, he began to pace more rapidly to shake the feeling and the thought. But she walked up to him, hesitating ever so slightly before reaching into his pocket to draw out his hand. Covering it with both of her own, she squeezed it, causing him to stare down at it in startled wonder, and then raise his eyes to hers. A gentle smile hung on her mouth, her expression soft in the gathering light. _Blue eyes…_They held his without any sign of fear or revulsion, sending shockwaves down his spine. The only other woman he had ever been this close to was Christine, and he remembered, clearly, vividly, how much fear had been in hers.

"I'm not planning anything. I only want to talk to him, find out what he knows. He saw me, I _know_ he saw me. This could be our chance. My chance to get home," Her smile spread, eyes twinkled with humor, "And your chance to get rid of me." _I do not want to "get rid" of you. _The thought came unbidden as he stared at her, feeling strange, lighter. Analyzing her face, she grew only more beautiful as the sky around them continued to lighten. She was not flawless like Christine, a good portion of her face was now caked with dirt. He glanced down at his hands, the sudden compulsion to see what was under the dirt controlling him as he pulled the glove off, and raised his hand to wipe it away. As soon as his finger touched her cheek, though, he forgot about the dirt, amazed at himself. _I am touching her, _touching_ her, and she does not pull away or flee. How is this possible? _..._So very beautiful…_ She stared up at him, eyes wide, and as he stared back, it clicked in him that he was once again doing something vastly inappropriate, and most likely not appreciated. _Damn it all! What am I doing, have I no self control at all! She must despise me! _His finger was now coated with dirt, and his eyes darting to it, he ripped it away from her face, displaying it to her. Getting himself firmly back in control, he forced himself to give her a nasty smile, to hide the emotions he had just shown her behind smug mockery.

"Your last lesson is that cleanliness is more than just an occasional requirement. I do not know if it is valued in your time, but here, being clean is a desirable necessity." He swung away from her, choking out a malicious chuckle as he continued to try to regain control of himself. "Something you should think about." He made a show of wiping his hand on his pants, knowing her eyes were on him, and then replaced the glove. _She must not know._ His plan succeeded, she stomped over to where he leaned against a gargoyle, fuming.

"Listen, _you_, before I got to this fucking place, I took a shower _every damn day_! It's not _my_ fault if in this stupid time they—" He smiled quietly to himself before spinning around and clapping a hand over her mouth. _At least I can make it up to her with this…_

"Shh! Enough. Are you ever just quiet, Gwendolyn? Watch." As he turned to look easterly, waiting, he wondered idly at his absolute insistence at keeping her at arms length, always being purposely unkind to drive her away. He knew the reason. _I do not wish to be hurt again…_The breaking dawn pulled his mind from the thought, bathing Paris in glorious light. He heard her gasp under his hand, and hid a small smile. It lit up her face, bathing her in its glow, catching at her hair like a halo of flame. He forgot about the sunrise, eyes drawn only to her. Then the glory passed, and he removed his hand, thoughtful. It granted him with inspiration, new life, and he never missed it, but now he longed to see it again, just to watch her again. Gwen began to turn away, nodding, and he felt the unanticipated need to explain himself.

"I watch it every morning. And watch the sun set again every evening. It is comforting to me, a reminder that there is more to this world than humankind, with its cruelties, prejudices, and hate. That there is beauty that cannot be spoiled or tarnished by its touch. That even in the darkest times, there can be light." That gave her pause, she was once again staring, and he felt a little embarrassed for telling her. She seemed to almost be glowing in the early light, the sun rays catching her bright copper curls, making them more golden. Their gazes locked, and he felt even more so, looking downward. "Come, you must return, lest they be missing you." He continued, gruffly, attempting to push her away once again. He grabbed at her hand, too aware that she did not flinch and that he himself wasn't uncomfortable with the gesture. They made their way down, and then stopped. He didn't want to get too close to the life below, but wanted to make sure she would make it back down safely.

"Can you find your way back from here?" Gwendolyn gave him an ironic smile, smiling even more widely to soften her response.

"I go down. It's not a very complicated concept." He nodded, slightly amused. She then unwrapped the cloak he had given her from around her shoulders, and handed it back to him. He was somewhat displeased to see it, and turned to leave, feeling a little resentful at what he thought was a dismissal. She spoke again though, mildly surprising him.

"Before you go—I just wanted to say…thank you, for the cloak, and the lesson, and…the sunrise." He hesitated, nodding again, knowing that she meant much more than just the listed things. Oddly happy with it, he climbed the nearby staircase, almost relieved to get away. Pausing when he knew he was hidden by darkness, he leaned over the railing to watch her descend. Backing into a darkened tunnel, he slowly brought the still-warm cloak to his face. _She smells of vanilla…_Frowning at himself, he then quickly flipped it over his shoulder, climbing down into the tunnel.


	26. Not Alone Anymore

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

26

"Not Alone Anymore…"

Everyone rushing around to get the last of the decorating done, Kathryn and I were able to sneak out early unnoticed. She had a "surprise" for me, I was suspicious. I strode to my room, excitement and nerves warring for dominance within me. Kathryn had ducked out to get the surprise, I went to my room to get ready._ Firstly, I need a mask_. I had only found out that it was a masquerade earlier in the afternoon, by chance overhearing a conversation of two performers. _Mask, mask…where…costume room?_ I made my way to the door to head to the costume room, but was nearly plowed down by Kathryn. She clutched a brown satchel to her chest, her hands folded over it protectively. After we stumbled backwards from our collision, the first thing she did was glance into the bag, making sure its precious cargo was safe. Sheepishly, she grinned up at me. Raising a brow, I watched intently as she pulled out the contents of the bag. Two shining silver combs, inlaid with mother of pearl and sprinkled with seed pearls sat in her upheld palms. Strings of more seed pearls hung in loops below the combs, the mother of pearl accented by silver roses, their petals curling outward in a fanlike fashion. My breath caught, and with a quick glance at Kathryn for permission, I touched at the combs lightly, almost afraid they would shatter under my fingers.

"I though' they would lovely with yer hair an' dress, they were my mother's." She smiled up at me, taking my arm and leading me back into my chambers. Seating me on my little chair, she produced a comb and dipped it into my water pitcher at the side of my bed. I had already bathed, early in the morning, and scrubbed my hair extensively, but let her do what she had to. Running the wet comb through my hair, she was able to tame back the rebellious curls, creating elaborate twists of hair that lead to two braids in the back of my head. I felt her slide the combs securely into each braid, grinning as she grunted, trying to get stray hairs to stay in place. Finally, she stood back, admiring her handiwork. Satisfied, she held aloft her hand mirror for my opinion. As I stared at myself, a brilliant smile broke out over my face, I hadn't had my hair effectively upswept since I had gotten short hair. The combs were stunning, standing out of my red auburn hair drastically, sweeping out to the sides like wings, little curls bouncing around them.

"It's gorgeous! Thank you so much!" I spun around squeezing her in a hug. She laughed, relieved that I liked it.

"Now, if you go an' mess it all up, I'll have t' bury you under the opera house with the Ghost." Hesitating at her words slightly enough to not be noticed, I flashed a devious grin at her.

"I'll take good care of it, and the combs. Cross my heart, hope to die." Her brow wrinkled slightly at my phrase, but she nodded, getting the point. "Oh! It's a masquerade, so I need a mask…Come with me to raid the costume room?" Her response a low chortle, we made for the costume room.

Digging through the trunks, it didn't take very long to find a suitably beautiful mask to match the dress and combs. On a stick, it was white, silver flowers, glass beads of silver and white covering it. White ribbons and feathers plumed off the side with the stick, the ribbons curling down the stick to rest on my hand. Kathryn also managed to dig up a pair of white slippers, made of soft leather. Practically tearing the rigid boots I had worn since my arrival off my feet, I snatched the slippers. My feet covered in old half-healed blisters, the squishy slippers felt like they were made of clouds. Grinning broadly, my excitement building with every second, we quit the costume room, proud of the great finds. Holding the mask up to my face as we walked back to my room, I tested how well I would be able to see. _Not all that well…whatever. At least it looks good_. Make up came next. Kathryn watched with fascination as I dabbed concealer on my bruise. I smeared it over the unsightly mark, the bruise all but disappearing. Satisfied that only the most trained eye would even be able to tell that I had been bonked around, I dabbed it under my eyes to cover purple circles. Next, a soft red-brown eyeliner and mascara. Finished off with my rosy lipstick, I smacked my lips together loudly, I spun around for Kathryn's appraisal. With a lopsided grin, she pointed at my lips.

"Where can I get some of that?" I chuckled as I handed her my lipstick, giving her a brief demonstration on how to apply it.

"Never used glamories before, they're so expensive tha' only the high class ladies have 'em. How did you come by 'em?" She asked, applying it and then smacking her lips like me.

"Oh…where I come from, they're cheaper…" _It's not a complete lie_… She helped me struggle into the dress as always, then held up the mirror for my self-inspection. I grinned foolishly as I clapped my hands over my breasts like I did whenever putting on my bra, kind of like a gorilla beating his chest, and twirled for her, thrilled with my costume. The look she rested on me was almost of motherly pride, patting at my hair and dress to fix stray hairs and invisible dust.

"Nothin' more can be done, Gwen. You look perfect." I blushed, absorbing the praise like a sponge.

"Now if I don't trip all over this thing and fall down the stairs, I should be ok…" Joking aside, I felt a little nervous, and my clumsy feet were a cause of the anxiety. She smiled tolerantly.

"You'll show those high class bastards tha' any ol' girl can join 'em. 'High breedin'' nothin'." I chuckled, her accent becoming thicker with her indignation.

"Alright, I guess it's time to go…" Apprehension tickling in my stomach, she gave me a gentle shove towards the door. Nodding more to myself then to her, I held my head high, mask up, and strode towards the main hall of the Opera Populaire.

o o o o o

After two days of sheltering himself in his underground caverns, he had begun to grow restless, taking to agitated pacing just to fill his time. Slightly irritated he still was at the girl, his outright repulsion to the plan of attending the gala had all but dwindled away, the idea of getting out of the caverns appealing. After weeks of spending most of his time above ground, squandering hours, days, on end in the cold, moist, darkness of his chambers seemed more distasteful that he had ever thought before. Surprisingly, he had begun to look forward to the evening of light and sound, contagious excitement and dizzy frivolity. _And company, however distasteful…_He thought of the nobility that would be surrounding him, Gwendolyn, he reluctantly admitted, was hardly distasteful_. …And I will not be alone anymore…_ He had begun preparing hours early, now too eager to concentrate on anything else.

A slight hum escaped his lips, a few notes from a piece he had written years ago. Catching himself, he paused, hands froze on the half-buttoned waistcoat, sudden surprise arresting his motion. He hadn't uttered a musical sound since Christine had left, his music, the sound of his own voice, too tied to the thought of her. _So much of my music had been written for her…why did that not hurt? _Now it hurt, Christine's image summoned from the depths of his mind. _But the music…I did not connect it with her…_Pressing the pain back within, he dug for a reason for the music that he had emitted. Christine had nothing to do with it. _What I have played, thought of, recently has had nothing to do with her_…_None at all_…Scowling, he refocused on the buttons of his vest. Confusion pestering him, he hated being confused more than anything, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

Strapping in a heavily embroidered black suit, he wouldn't look too different from the other guests, aristocrats from around Europe, dressed in the latest fashions. His 'costume' was a bit older, but with some alterations he had made based on keen observations, he would blend right in. _And now for the mask_…_ A masquerade gala, how like the nobility to wallow in a celebration of deceit._ As he slipped on the mask, he stared at himself, acknowledging his own part in the deceit. _"God has given you one face, and you make yourself another…"_ His usual now, all black, covering everything but his mouth and chin. Altogether, he looked clean-cut, relatively fashion forward, and hopefully, intimidating without being obvious. In simple black, he would not be recognized, Red Death had been extremely recognizable. Then, though, he had wanted to make a scene, wanted to be recognized and feared. This night, however, was not about him_. For once, I do something that is not centered around myself…_The thought was alarming, disturbing. _Why do I go so far to indulge the fantasies, most likely, of a simple girl? _He didn't want to push the thought, turning his attention back to his image in the mirror. Scoffing privately at the elaborate costumes the aristocrats would be wearing, he smoothed down his clothing, admiring the simple, sophisticated black. _Let the fops have their pretties_…He swirled his cape around his shoulders to cover the sword hanging from his belt. _Just in case of problems_… Gwendolyn's foolish plan ensured that there would be problems, and he wanted to be as fully prepared as possible. Smoothing out his jacket once again, he appraised his look. _It will do_...Despite his apathetic thoughts, though, a shadow of a smirk played on his lips. If he could just ignore his face, what he knew lay behind the mask, everything else looked perfect. Turning from the mirror, he made his way to the small gondola to leave for the gala.


	27. The Gala

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

27

"The Gala"

The light, colors, motion, sounds, smells of it almost nauseated me as they spun around me. I had entered the entrance hall where the gala was taking place, intimidated from the very size of it all. Stepping shakily to the foot of the Grand Staircase to wait on my "date", I hung on the railing seemingly for dear life, it was a blur around me, my senses almost overtaken by the wonder of it all. The Opera Populaire's orchestra was playing on a specially made balcony on the second level, squatting in a dome designed to push the music outward into the crowd, task it was accomplishing gallantly, as I had to almost cringe away from the pressure of its volume. People were everywhere, masses of them dancing almost perfectly in sync, the rest bubbling around the edges of the hall, socializing, laughing, drinking.

Trying to avoid all the movement that was beginning to make me dizzy, I dropped the mask to my side, attempting to take in the beautiful mess that was the decorations. Yards of flashy fabric dipping and looping from the domed ceiling above, the streamers, balls of glass, massive flower displays, and garlands featured around the hall made up the decorations, all in bright, rich colors. I blinked furiously, light suddenly reflected into my eyes from a polished glass ball. Dropping my gaze, I noticed the smells, not nearly as pleasant as the sights. Hundreds of perfumed ladies had created a scented haze, mixed with sweat, smoke from candles and gas lanterns, as well as cigarettes, pipes and cigars, all combined with the strong odor of alcohol. Only the finest I was sure, but the mishmash of all of them made my eyes water. The music blasting down from the orchestra was buoyant and boisterous, encouraging couples to join the dance. Each beat though, thrummed in my head, too loud as it tried to overpower the garbled conversation from the crowd below. I rubbed my eyes carefully, not wanted to smear my mascara, and caught my breath. It all beat on my senses, the music and excitement making my already anxious heart pump faster. _It's like all the concerts I've ever been to mixed together!_ I must have looked pretty flustered, I was drawing glances from around the room. Feeling the pressure of many eyes on me, I wondered bitterly why, and raised the mask to my face, a shield from invasive glances. _Do I stand out, like he said I would? Kathryn said I looked fine_…My breathing deepened, if I was caught in this venture, I wouldn't have another chance. _I have to do this right._ Much like the night of Mom's party, I felt people claustrophobic, and tried to control my ragged breathing to calm down_. This was a mistake, what was I thinking? I have no idea what to do here! Is a woman even supposed to be alone? Where the hell is he?! This is the most beautiful nightmare… I shouldn't have come, there has to be another way…_ My vision hindered by the mask, my eyes flicked around the room, involuntarily looking for an escapePeople swirled around me, colors and noises in their wake in a confusing blend. The room felt incredibly hot all of a sudden, my dress heavy and sticky as nervous sweat trailed down the back of my gown. I was hyperventilating, my breaths becoming more and more ragged. _He's not coming! Dammit! I can't do this alone! I never was good at parties, I have to get out of here!_ I saw the crowd momentarily part, flashing a potential exit. I gathered my skirts, readying my flight, deeply regretting my decision to come here.

A firm hand folded over my elbow, halting my getaway. My head snapped around, suddenly afraid some stranger had grabbed me. I could hardly see who it was, my mask plastered against my face ferociously guarding me. Through the thin eyeholes, though, I viewed a familiar face. _Or…familiar mask and…chin_.

"Gwendolyn. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. Were you planning on abandoning this foolishness after all?" Relief washed through me, its coldness dousing the anxious stifling heat that was threatening to overwhelm me. Despite his harsh words, he swept into a low bow, my hand grasped in his felt the light brush of his lips. Just as quickly as my anxiety had been quenched, it returned with a flare of a blush. Through my mask, I watched the lean figure straighten from his elegant bow, cloudy green eyes meeting mine. The eyes then flickered over my body, my dress, neck, hair, mask, analyzing. Embarrassed, and suddenly uncomfortable under his analytical gaze, I frowned at him, wishing that my mask covered my face the way his did, it would hide my blush.

"To answer your question, Monsieur, I was thinking about it, but then you decided to finally show up, so now I'm thinking that we'll stay." Wanting to inform him that I didn't appreciate his invasive examination, I snapped at him. "Do I meet your satisfaction, or do you want me to go change into something else?" He sighed, dramatically, as if I had injured him. _A theatrical performance, but I suppose I shouldn't expect any less from a man who lives in an opera house._ _Ham_. Then, reaching out and pulling my mask away from my face, he held me at an arm's length, now officially judging my appearance. His eyes darted over me, then met mine. For an instant, I thought I saw light in them, but it was gone too quickly for me to be sure. I must have been relatively satisfactory, he gave me a curt nod, his gaze shifting off me quickly. I felt distinctly disappointed that he didn't even really notice, I wished I hadn't of asked. _Better to not know that he doesn't give a damn._

"It is acceptable. And if you insist, mam'selle, we will stay..." Noticing my sour disposition, he grasped my hand lightly, forcing me to look at him. "But let me suggest that this evening will go no faster with biting words nor bad tempers, so perhaps I could forestay your anger with a bribe of refreshment?" His baritone decorated with patient intent, I grimaced. I forced myself to smile, to relax and go with the flow. _'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger..._He offered me his arm, I accepted it, deciding he was at least correct about the words and tempers. _I just want to get to Raoul and get out of here as fast as possible._ He began to push through the crowd, perfectly composed. I wondered briefly as be towed me behind where all of his anxiety had gone. _He seemed terrified of this two days ago…_As he pushed through, people saw him and parted out of his way. Not because they knew him to be the infamous "Phantom", but because he had a tall, commanding presence, the very way he walked was aggressive, predatory; his eyes behind the pitch mask were flashing, daring anyone to stand in his way. I noticed, as I was pulled along, how he moved, it was much clearer in full light. He strode, each step with purpose, calculated. His movements were graceful, reminding me of a stalking panther, sleek and black, a true predator. Whenever we had to pause, though, waiting for someone to get out of the way, he stood stiffly, grace gone, but the air of dignity around him seemed to only thicken. I grinned faintly, incredibly glad he was with me. _They won't stare at just me anymore, not with him drawing their attention! He isn't blending in so well now, he sticks out too. But not in a bad way_…A final group of huddled aristocracy, bedecked in finery that I could never even imagine wearing, spotted us and hurried out of the way, their eyes slightly wide. _No wonder people are afraid of him, he moves like he is about to walk up to anyone and just kill them on the spot. _We arrived at a gluttonously massive display of food, stretched out on long tables. My "date" waved a vague hand, I figured that he meant for me to get whatever I wanted, and he turned to observe the crowd, a grim scowl on his lips.

"'Hell is empty and all the devils are here…'" He muttered, I glanced away from the food to flash him an inquiring look.

"Hmm?" I thought I had just heard him spout Shakespeare, he shook his head, remaining silent. I shrugged it off, moving to the table about to serve myself when he spotted me, frowning slightly. I paused, a little plate in my hand.

"What?" His lips thinned in hardly veiled annoyance.

"Usually the lady lets her escort fetch the refreshments." His tone sarcastic, as if I should know that.

"Oh. Well, no offense, but I'm going to do it myself," He grabbed my hand.

"Gwendolyn, remember what we discussed. You must be docile, graceful, and demure. It is my duty to retrieve it for you. The lady does not deign to grope at the food herself. And do not scowl like that, you are not a child, so do not act like one. Dignity and grace above all else." He poured me a glass of champagne, I struggled with my urgent need to stick my tongue out at him. _A child!_

"I'm not helpless, I have hands." I snapped, wanting to push past him to pile sweets on a plate.

"It is against custom. It is my duty to make sure you do not get yourself thrown out of here, so do as I say, it is for your own benefit." He handed me my drink, I sipped at it. I mumbled "Whatever you say, Dad," under my breath, but to him, flashed what I hoped was a cute, apologetic smile, remembering what we had discussed about words and tempers.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting there hasn't been a feminist movement yet…" He snorted, pouring a drink for himself, and then moved to stand behind me, leaning downward to speak quietly into my ear.

"You are looking for the Vicompte? I believe that is the young fool, standing within that group of ladies," His voice was icy, I swayed away from him, wondering_. Is he nervous? Or just really, really angry? _Deciding it was most likely a combination of both, I scanned the room, hoping to find where he was looking. Raoul was across the hall, energetically small talking a group of girls. _He looks like he's flirting, I bet his wife won't appreciate that…_Then it occurred to me, the real reason that my ghostly companion hadn't wanted to come. _Christine! He thinks Christine is here! _I unintentionally let out a low groan as I was hit by wave after wave of guilt and remorse._ No wonder he called me selfish! I am! It didn't even occur to me that she would be here and that he wouldn't, naturally, want to see her!_ Talking to Raoul suddenly didn't seem so vital with these new circumstances, I whirled around to face him. He had been standing close enough to whisper into my ear, turning towards him placed me up against his chest. Apparently startled by my movement, he attempted to back up, only to hit the buffet table that was only inches behind him.

"We don't have to stay." I blurted, my expression soaked in empathy, staring into his widening eyes. _I wouldn't stay in the same state as Josh if I could help it! I can't make him stay here, what if Christine is nearby? What if he sees her? What if she sees him!_

"What?" His face etched with confused surprise, his mouth pulled downward into a frown.

"We can leave, we don't have to stay." I was trying to help him, to relieve him of the misery he must be in, though he showed no signs of it. His mouth suddenly gritting into bared teeth, he grabbed my arm with a vice-like grip, leaning down so he could whisper harshly in my face.

"You mean to tell me you have been tormenting me with this plan of yours just to desert it so readily? When you have nearly achieved you goals?" He growled, leaving me somewhat shocked by his response to what I thought was helping. I ripped my arm away, my empathy draining.

"You have been bugging me to leave ever since we got here! Are you telling me you _don't_ want to leave now?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice a whisper, but most likely failing.

"No, I do _not_ want to stay at this revolting parade of Europe's finest idiots! But _you_ forced us to come, and now _you_ have to see it through!" He eyed me, contempt dripping from his voice. "Many unflattering characteristics you might possess, Gwendolyn, but I never thought cowardice was one of them!" My face scrunching into a furious contortion, I opened my mouth to snap back at him only to have my retort cut from my lips by another voice behind us.

"Ah! Nothing more delightful than two young lovers enjoying the gala, eh?" I spun on my heel to face the speaker, purposely knocking my elbow into the Phantom now behind me in the process. I gaped slightly, extremely thankful that I had brought my mask to my face while jabbing him. Andre, one of the managers of the Opera Populaire had joined us, apparently deciding to make conversation in French while piling food onto his plate. I understood enough of Andre's comment to be irritated. I forcefully withheld my snort of bitter laughter. _Lovers! I would kill him first!_ I wasn't quick on my feet, Andre waited politely for a response, but I was occupied not only by my incompetence in speaking the language, but also by the impossibility of his suggestion. My companion, though, smoothly agreed in English, taking me by utter surprise when he wrapped a possessive arm across me, pulling me back into him. I bit my lip to prevent squeaking in stunned protest, while he flashed Andre a lazy smile.

"My wife and I were just admiring your decorations, Monsieur. Lovely indeed. Do you not think so, dearest?" Realizing this was delivered to me, I nodded enthusiastically, wrenching out as cheerful a smile as I could. Andre seemingly bought it, and setting his plate aside, presented me with a low bow, grasping my hand to plant a kiss on the back, keeping up the conversation in English.

"Only the best for our esteemed guests. I am Gille Andre, manager of the Opera Populaire," He gave me proud smirk, obviously expecting me to be very impressed. I complied, gasping a little and widening my eyes through the mask. "And you, my lady?" I opened my mouth to speak, but the Phantom cut me off hurriedly.

"I am Captain Gabriel Rousseau, on leave for the next three weeks, and this is my breath-takingly beautiful _wife_, Adelaine. It is a pleasure, Monsieur Andre, your opera house is quite charming," I leaned slightly to the side, so I could fix him with a stare. He seemed to be enjoying the illusion, though, taking the liberty of running a gloved finger down my cheek as he spoke. "We simply must think of investing, my dear." His hand lightly caressed my neck, then trailing down across my shoulder. Distinctly uncomfortable, though the touch wasn't necessarily offensive to me, I pushed back my curiosity at why I was moderately enjoying the attention. Andre missed any visible signs of my awkwardness, delighting in the compliment and eager to advise us to invest.

"Oh! Yes, indeed! You must meet my associate, Richard! I'm sure he is about somewhere…" I was becoming more and more unnerved, and not only by the touch. _Meeting both of them! I can't! What if I'm recognized!_ Dipping his chin to rest intimately on my shoulder, my companion brushed his masked cheek against my neck, fingers of one hand playing lightly with a few pieces of hair that had come loose from the clips, the other hand resting on my waist. _What is he doing? He—he's touching me! Where is his end-all sense of propriety? His fear of being touched, of contact? Why is he doing this? He can't be enjoying it, he hates me. _Despite his nonchalant affectionate display, he did extract us from the trap Andre was setting.

"Unfortunately, Monsieur, I promised my wife a dance. Perhaps another time? I am confident we will be here to see your new triumph." I didn't miss his little joke, relaxing slightly and smiling playfully. Andre nodded, agreeing another time would be best. The warm arm that had been wrapped around me slipped away, gloved hands now taking my own as he lead to me into the dance. Once safely away from Andre, I turned to fix him with a level stare.

"Your _wife_?!" I demanded as he gently twirled me in accordance to the steps. He shrugged evenly, a slight smug smile hanging on his lips.

"It worked, he believed it,"

"Seriously? Your wife?" I repeated, his answer insufficient.

"And what is wrong with that? Do you mean to imply that I am not deserving of a wife?" I snorted in my most unladylike manner, and his piqued frown deepened.

"You could have at least let me _know_ that we were married!" To that, he actually laughed, not his normal harsh bark, but an actual peal of genuine laughter.

"Trust me, Gwendolyn, I was unaware that we were as well!" He continued to chuckle, and I warmed up, deciding I liked his playful side, even if it was a bit grabby. _Ha! Grabby…Well, it certainly is rare_. I decided to tease him back, now seeing the whole thing as rather funny.

"You were being very 'vulgar and brazen' back there. Where are the hordes of angry nobility threatening to throw us out?" I blinked innocently up at him, but my tone was sarcastic. He stiffened slightly while dancing.

"Andre is a fool, and it was convincing, was it not? No one would expect to look for the Phantom with a partner. You are not offended?" He was quick to ask, nervousness in the second question sharpening his voice. It must have taken him some minutes to really appreciate what had happened, though he had appeared outwardly calm, he must have been just as anxious as I was talking to Andre. Now out of the moment, he was reviewing what happened, trying to defend himself. I had been surprised, yes, and uncomfortable simply because his behavior was so out of character, but even more surprising, had enjoyed the attention. He was staring at me intensely now, trying to gage my reaction. I shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to make it known to him that I had actually enjoyed it.

"No. Things aren't nearly as rigid in my time as they are here," That wasn't entirely true. _If anyone had attempted to touch me back home like he did here, I would have tried to knock them into next week. Like Jonathan…nasty bastard._ _Whatever happens to me, I hope he gets what's coming to him._ He accepted it, visibly, though I'm sure he didn't want to show it, relieved. Deciding to at least get off the topic of touching, I launched back into the joke.

"Wasn't it a lovely wedding? White roses and lilies, lavish decorations…too bad it happened so quickly, I hardly remember it!" Laughing, I tightened my grip on his neck as he dipped me.

"So I take it we are continuing with this…story?" My eyes twinkled as I nodded, laughing, delighted.

"This is like a James Bond movie or something! You're Bond, I guess I'm the Bond girl…Raoul is the guy we have to either protect or kill…" I gave another burst of laughter at the silliness of the comparison. The Phantom, not really understanding the joking reference, gave a gruff grin at one part of it.

"Yes, killing him would be preferable." I scoffed, smirking at him, his eyes glistened behind the pitch mask.

"Was that a joke, Monsieur Phantom?" A faint smile fluttered on his lips, threatening to break into a real one.

"Of course not. I have no sense of humor that I am aware of. And that is 'husband dearest' to you," He openly grinned at that one as I laughed, but I caught the slight pained glint in his eyes as his smile died away. Suddenly, the joke wasn't nearly as funny. _He thinks he will never find anyone, always alone…I never should have teased him about it…why do I always put my foot in my mouth? _My mood chilled, the laughter melting away from my face as I realized our purpose here. And the fight we were having about it before Andre interfered. _He called me a coward! I only wanted to leave to help him and he mocked me! Irrational out of fear? Fine, let's just get this over with. _Straightening, I scanned the room for my target.

"Dance towards the Staircase. Raoul is over there." He coolly glanced over his shoulder to where I was directing. His humor gone, we gradually turned in that direction.

As we neared the Vicompte, though, his hands about my waist tightened their hold. His eyes began a wild flickering, never resting on one spot too long. _He looks like a freaking deer in headlights! Must be searching for Christine! Ugh, I feel awful, why didn't he just let us leave?_ I visibly ignored it though, his whole body growing steadily more rigid. I pulled away slightly, wanting to cross the short distance that separated me from Raoul, and the truth. His gaze shot back to me, his eyes anxious, almost fearful, as his hands clutched tighter on my waist and elbow.

"Gwen…" A new depth of compassion for him was unfolding within me. I took his hands gently into mine, hoping to reassure him.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to talk to him. Nothing more. He probably won't even remember me. I'll be right back, just wait here." My words did nothing to sway him, his jaw set firmly in resolve.

"No. I will accompany you." Vaguely astonished, I withdrew from his grasp.

"But…what about…her? What if _she's_ here?" My voice hardly a whisper, as if to make the question gentler, I watched achingly as his expression clouded, he closed his eyes. _Leave now, go..._But he didn't. He opened his eyes, fierceness settling into them.

"I will accompany you," His voice unyielding, I merely nodded, taking the arm he offered, silently praying that a scene wouldn't occur, and that he didn't have an emotional meltdown. Putting on our pleasant, haughty smiles that aristocrats brandished, we approached the Vicompte de Chagny with slow, graceful steps.


	28. No Time to Lose It

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

28

"No Time to Lose It"

Like a shield, my mask pressed into my cheeks. I casually glanced at the man who was, for an unknown reason, risking his very sanity by delving back into his past_. I never should have made him…I'm an awful person, the pain he must be going through! I would never just walk up to Josh, I couldn't! He's insanely brave, keyword being insane…_

The group of nobility parted to allow us to enter their little bunch, the group consisting of three young ladies, two young men, and Raoul, all dressed to the nines. Raoul and the other young men nodded, smiling suspiciously.

"Good evening, Monsieur, my lady. Are you enjoying the festivities?" Raoul spoke first, in French, taking the position of pack leader. I smiled graciously, as if I was pleased to see them, but actually just at my understanding of the language, even if I couldn't speak back. I analyzed them from behind my mask, offering my hand as I spoke, in English. _Understanding French._ _Glad to see I'm getting _something_ out of this mess…_

"Good evening to you as well. Yes, my husband and I are enjoying them immensely." One at a time, the men dropped into deep bows, kissing the back of my hand. My arm still tucked into the Phantom's, I felt him tense, agitated, as Raoul touched his lips to my hand. Grinning broadly, the Vicompte held onto my hand.

"Ah, a native English speaker, Madam? Rare indeed., my friend here is one of the few native speakers I know," He gestured at one of the young men, who bowed again. "I am the Vicompte de Chagny, may I inquire whose presence I am delighting in?" _Let the games begin_. I removed my mask, beaming at him.

"I must say, Raoul, have you forgotten me so completely?" I flirted outrageously, the only way I could get the information I wanted was to charm it out of him. _He never told me exactly what he saw...flattery is the key._ His face lit up with exuberant shock, he laughed, seemingly delighted as he gripped my hand, placing another kiss on it.

"Gwen! You—you are here! You look incredible!" I blushed thoroughly, ignoring the Phantom's angry squeeze on my arm. The others, all but the one young man, obviously did not understand English, looking blankly between the Vicompte and myself. The one that did merely watched us like the rest.

"Yes, I hope you do not mind my intrusion, I was saddened that I was never able to thank you for your kindness that night," He gave me a wry smile.

"No need, my lady. I do hope you forgive me, though, for deserting you. My wife…she was in danger…" I nodded, as if understanding perfectly.

"It was a difficult night for all of us, Monsieur. Is…your wife here this evening?" My companion stiffened again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Raoul's eyes shifted from mine to my escort, his brow furrowing slightly. Still eyeing him, the Vicompte answered my question, distractedly, his eyes flickering over my 'husband's' mask. I felt a stab of fear. _Does he recognize him!?_

"My wife was unable to join me tonight…Monsieur, I must admit you look very familiar to me. Have we met before?" He opened his mouth to respond, I cut him off, afraid of what he would say in response.

"Oh! Raoul! Forgive me! I did not realize!" Raoul glanced back at me, surprised at my outburst, and my companion turned to face me as well. "I am just so thrilled to see you, I forgot my husband! Please forgive me, darling," I stroked the hand that had moved around my waist possessively. "Raoul, this is my husband, Captain Gabriel Rousseau. I was in such a state of confusion when we first met, I could not ask for him. A touch of amnesia, the doctor later told me," I explained, hoping that it was convincing. Apparently, Raoul bought it, nodding agreeably.

"Yes, you were confused indeed, Madam. A pleasure to meet the husband of such a lovely young lady." He gave my "husband" a curt nod, still slightly suspicious.

"And you as well, Monsieur Vicompte. To answer your question, no, I do not believe we have met before, but my wife and I attend the opera often when I am on leave." He managed to keep the contempt from coloring his voice and facial expression, both bland and indifferent. I was proud of him, squeezing his hand. But then he continued. "A pleasant event to be sure, Monsieur, but do you not miss your wife?" His question spoken through grit teeth. Raoul's eyes narrowed slightly, his lip curling into the faintest of sneers. _He might not exactly recognize him, but he knows he doesn't like him…_

"Indeed, Monsieur. Always."

"Do leave Raoul alone, _darling_. I am quite sure he dearly misses his wife. You always miss me when we are parted." Though my tone polite, my voice had an edge, a warning. _Let it go…please, just for now…_ He was clearly on the edge of losing his composure. _If he freaks out, both of us will be in trouble. This is no time to lose it, Erik!_ I thought at him, hoping that he was somehow telepathic. Instead of relying on that, I decided to take control of the implosive situation. "It seems that I am in need of refreshment, Monsieur Vicompte. Please, will you accompany me to the table? There is some business I wish to discuss with you…If you don't mind, dear?" The question was aimed at the Phantom, but I stepped forward and took Raoul's arm before he could respond. Glancing at him, his eyes vicious as he watched us leave arm in arm. I winked at him, hoping he wouldn't be too angry when I came back. _I hope he realizes it's necessary. Raoul won't tell me anything with those people gawking and Erik staring holes in his head._ Reaching the refreshment table, I allowed him to pour me a glass of champagne.

"You had business to discuss with me, Madam?" I tossed my head coyly, mentally reprimanding myself for being such an incompetent flirt.

"Please, call me Gwen, Monsieur. I wanted to speak with you about that evening…the evening of the disaster." He paled slightly, squirmed. "Do not mistake me, I do not wish to distress you. But…you see, I cannot remember what happened to me. The first person I remember, though, is you. I was hoping to inquire…" I blinked wide, innocent, eyes at him. "Do you know what happened to me, Monsieur?" Taking a chance, I lightly pressed my hand to his chest, smiling as prettily as I could. He seemed to warm, growing more comfortable, taking my hand.

"I do recall, Gwen. But I must profess, this will sound very strange indeed. I do not understand what I saw, and am a little embarrassed to admit this foolishness. I am sure my eyes were mistaken, but I believe…" He squeezed my hand, his eyes worried. "that I saw you…come _out_ of the mirror." He tore his eyes from mine, shaking his head shamefully. "I realize it makes no sense. Quite impossible," He met my eyes again, almost pleading for acceptance. I smiled at him gently, inwardly rejoicing his confirmation of our theories.

"I appreciate your honesty very much, Raoul. You have my gratitude, but you must certainly have been mistaken, for I agree, falling out of a mirror is impossible." I grinned at him sheepishly, withdrawing my hand from his in order to take his arm and lead him back to the group. "I must have merely been playing with it." He nodded, accepting my hypothesis readily. _He doesn't want to think he's crazy, he'll take anything…I don't blame him. _

"Yes, most likely. I always tell my wife that her only flaw is such that is the flaw of all women, she is simply too curious." I bit my tongue as I felt a flush of anger. _The 'flaw of all women'? This time is just so stupid…_Thinking on Christine, I pursed my lips._ And besides, that's definitely not her only flaw. _We reached the group, my escort irately ignoring the small talk that was being thrust at him. I caught a question aimed at him from one of the young ladies, batting her eyes at his tall, lean form, inquiring at his military service. He opened his mouth to avoid being rude, but, relieved, he strode forward to reclaim me from Raoul's arm. Compressing me into him, he gave a blunt bow to the nobles, whirling around and marching off, hurrying me along as well. I turned over my squashed shoulder to wave and call goodbye to Raoul, a little embarrassed by my 'husband's' behavior.

"What did he say to you? I saw him touching you!" He demanded, his voiced ragged. Once we were out of sight, I shoved his crushing arm off me, turning to glare at him, sighing exasperatingly.

"He told me exactly what we needed to hear. He saw me fall from the mirror. And he didn't touch me, I touched him!"

"What, why! That sniveling, insolent _boy_, I'll rend him limb from limb…" His hands clenched furiously. Snorting, I clubbed him on the arm.

"Cut it out. I did what I had to to get him to spill. The job is done, we can leave now. You don't ever have to see him again." The idea seemed to appeal to him, he inhaled deeply, relaxing.

"Indeed…" Instead of turning to leave, though, he hesitated, considering. "But the music is still playing, Mam'selle." Curious, I let him sweep me back to the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a particularly boisterous tune. The guests began to shout and cheer, many more couples scurrying to the floor as well. Glancing around, confused, I yelped a protest as the Phantom's strong hands grasped my waist, lifting me into the air. Never liking to be far from the ground, I clutched frantically at his wrists, my feet kicking. Laughing, he swung me around in form with the dance, the other couples swinging their ladies as well. I realized that it was part of the dance, but was still uncomfortable, not entirely trusting that I wouldn't be dropped. With another swing, I was back on the floor, being twirled. Holding me at arms length, he pulled me back into him, I spun on my heels along with the dance. A fierce smile blazing on his lips, I yelped again as I was once again lifted off my feet. Instead of whirling me around, though, I was quite literally tossed into the air, and then caught, spun again.

"Getting nauseous! Want to stop!" I announced, but if he heard me, my protests were ignored. The room was alight with laughter and squeals of excitement, trying to sort out my equilibrium, I let go, forcing myself to merely concentrate on the dance and attempt to enjoy myself. By the end, I had been tossed several more times and had gotten a little used to it. Exhilarated, but completely relieved it was over and that I had survived, I presented my escort with a dazzling smile, eyes bright and face flushed. _That was some dance!_ _I can't believe he did that._ His hands lingered on my waist though the dance ended, if I hadn't been panting, I would have held my breath, conscious of the touch. I knew he didn't like being touched, he had made that quite clear in the past. All his caresses and touches had been under the guise of a happily married couple, and even then, they were strange to me. I especially hadn't expected him to keep doing it. And though my reaction confused me a little, I had enjoyed them, glowing in the attention. Half of the time I was getting over my shock, the other either pretending annoyance, or returning the affection in the part of loving wife. Thinking on it, I admitted that it hadn't been completely false, my contact with him. Curiosity spliced with unexpected moderate interest had caused me to nearly relish it, I hadn't been nearly as comfortable laying hands on Raoul.We hadn't been around each other too much, and I had been frustrated with him every time we did, but I suddenly felt like I understood, or at least was beginning to understand, him, that we had somehow clicked. I realized all that he was risking, sacrificing for me, appreciated it, considered him a friend. I looked up at him, delighted, and wanting him to know it, wanting him to know that I sincerely cared for him, enjoyed his company, even his touch.

But his eyes weren't on me, his steely gaze focused somewhere else. Following his line of sight, I blanched as I saw Raoul, staring straight back at him, the young man's face rigid with contempt, eyes locked with the Phantom's. _We…the dance! We got here again in the dance! Did-did he do it on purpose! Just to pick a fight with Raoul!!_ Suddenly seething, I hissed as he continued to stare daggers at the Vicompte, pulling me tightly against him. _Stupid, stupid men! Absolute idiots! What the hell are they doing? What is he doing? Using _me_ to show up Raoul? Trying to 'mark his territory'?!_ Now crushing me against him and making sure Raoul saw it, they stood, eyes dead set on each other, the crowd swirling around them. As if two locked in slow motion, they didn't seem to see anyone but each other, my escort didn't even seem to notice me, except to use me as a prop to nettle Raoul_. I'm tired of these morons._ _Fuck this_. I roughly broke from his grip, huffing. _I need another drink_. Nearly stomping to the refreshment table, I cursed both of them under my breath, especially the Phantom, almost positive he had started it. _To hell with him, I'll do this all on my own! _I felt slightly dirty, being used in a battle that wasn't even about me, it was about another woman. Their love for another woman, someone I had decided that I detested.Finding the table, I got my _own_ champagne and swigged it, reaching for another to drown my frustration, and humiliation. _I can't believe I even kinda started to like him! He's just another jerk, no different from the rest! Actually, both of them are! Raoul doesn't even know who he is! I'm just so fucking tired of men!_ Taking another swig, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, a completely unladylike gesture. Reaching for yet another drink, my hand was caught by a larger one, forcing me to set it down.

"Mademoiselle, do you not know it is improper for ladies to drink?" I had first thought it to be the Phantom come to apologize. The soft, grating voice though, did not belong to him, and I whirled on heel to identify the speaker, my heart dropping into my stomach. Before me stood Fauvre, sneering viciously, his hand tightening on my own. Gasping, I tried to wrestle my hand away, but he held on crushing my fingers in his vice-like grip. "Did you not think I would recognize you, Mam'selle? You have a lot of gall, girl, showing up here! Street trash is not allowed to mingle with the better class, no matter how nicely," He ran another hand down my side, over my waist and hip. "they dress upward." My fingers were white as he cut off my circulation, I mutely shrunk in pain as he pressed himself against me, pushing me into the buffet table behind me. _I can't get away, he knows! We're surrounded by people, if I try to get free, I'll be sure to get caught!_ Fighting panic, I bit down my lips, not allowing myself to cry out from the pain in my hand. He leaned into my ear, whispering soft threats into my ear.

"I know who aided you, who attacked me, that night, mon cherie. And I know what you are hiding. You believe yourself to have struck up a friendship with that…creature? An animal, a monster, and a murderer. And I will find him, Mam'selle. It was our last little…encounter…that ensured that. You see, cherie, I now know for certain, that his existence is not an exaggerated legend, but an actuality. So…I believe I owe you my thanks, I will capture the infamous Phantom of the Opera, have him hanged, and get my promotion," His voice, oily in my ear, became hard, infused with hate. "And once I do, I will arrest you for being an accomplice. You will spend the rest of your life rotting in prison…that, I can assure you. Your pathetic little 'ghost' friend will not harbor any more power over the Opera Populaire, and the next time he flies to your aid, it will be both of your undoing. Enjoy these next days of freedom, Mam'selle, they will be your last."

At his last word, he shoved me backwards into the table, I lurched, smashing my hands into platters of food, spilling the drinks. Alcohol and food sloshed over my white gown, sprinkling it with fresh stains. People turned to stare as I tried to stand up again, my entire body shaking as emotions wreaked havoc through my system. Anger, hate, anxiety, despair, utter humiliation, and especially dread pushed through my veins, I tried to ignore their stares and whispers, looking wildly about for an exit. Tears were beginning to collect in my eyes, threatening to embarrass me further. _I have to get out of here!_ Not caring if there was an opening in the crowd or not, I thrust through, pushing insulted nobility out of the way. My flight was halted by a sharp shout cutting across the din.

"Gwendolyn!" I paused, looking back over my shoulder to see the intimidating, statuesque form of the Phantom. He quickly covered the distance between us, long legs in stretching strides, aristocrats scuttling out of his way. "Gwendolyn. What happened!? Where are you going?" His eyes dropped to my gown, lips curling slightly in revulsion. "Have you been drinking?" Unable to contain my emotion, I felt the dams of my will crack and break.

"Just get away from me!" I screamed right into his face, he bolted backward, stunned at my outburst. The humiliation was the final straw for me, I hurled myself out of the entrance hall back into the dark gut of the Opera Populaire.


	29. Not To Me

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

29

"Not To Me"

_Bounty hunters! So that is why he attended, especially without Christine! He is feeding them information!_ He had begun his dance with the firebrand girl for pure amusement, greatly relieved that they could flee whenever they wanted to, her mission accomplished. _And why not take advantage of the situation?_ He had simply wanted to dance, to finally enjoy a night with people, even people he despised, and a woman, like a normal, anonymous man. _A woman I certainly do not despise_…Something had shifted between them over the course of the night, her attentions on Raoul had rankled within him more deeply than he had expected, certainly more than simple hatred for the man would produce. _I was…jealous_. He had had enough experience with the emotion to be able to identify it easily. _But not just with the foolish Vicompte either_…

Anyone that had looked at her, his Gwendolyn, had become a target for his anger. As soon as he had seen her, glorious and glowing, in her gown, he had felt a familiar sense of possessiveness. It was not, though, the same emotion he had felt for Christine, murderous wrath and insanity did not sour it. But he hadn't realized it, not until he watched the young man's eyes rake over her form appreciatively, press his greasy lips to the back of her hand. They had made small talk, Gwen had flirted with the Vicompte generously, not knowing the pain she was causing him. He had been allowing himself to live in the fantasy that they were indeed married, he was a normal man with a beautiful, intelligent_…comical, caring, graceful, fun, and utterly enchanting wife._ He had been taking pride in having her on his arm, barely keeping himself from parading her about the hall. She had joked about their wedding, including white roses and lilies, and lavish decorations, and he tried to push away the thought that it would never happen. _Not to me_.

And then they had approached the boy, the living personification of everything that he could never have, never even dream of having, and the illusion, the fantasy, had fallen apart. Wanting to protect Gwendolyn, as well as himself, he had accompanied her, to make sure that_…the boy did not steal her off, like he has done before._ She had indeed left him, though, walking away arm in arm with his most hated rival. And watching them, he had privately relived the horrors he had been trying to escape, the memories of Christine sailing away with the Vicompte, again and again. She had then turned to wink at him, a small gesture, but one that struck him to the very core. Promising him that she was still loyal, would return to him, had not forgotten him, and would not abandon him. _And I will do everything in my power to keep it that way. _And so he had stood, waiting for her like an obedient lap dog, something he would have never done before, absorbing the mindless chatter of the aristocracy around him. Then, one of the young men let it slip, no doubt to impress the ladies, that they were bounty hunters on a dangerous mission in search of the infamous opera ghost. Resisting the urge to laugh, he had contained himself, expressing polite interest. Delighting having an enraptured audience, they informed him that they were finding out details of the ghost from Raoul, who had encountered the monster before. _He is the enemy_…When she returned with his nemesis, he had pulled her away as quickly as possible, his jealousy and hatred for the boy increasing tenfold.

He had had every intention of telling her the information he had gathered, that Raoul, like he had thought, _was_ the enemy, that he had been right. And that she should _never_ see him again. Instead, everything had come out wrong, he had been distracted by his own enflamed emotions to get to serious talk. Then, she had said he would never have to see the boy again, and he had hoped that she meant that she wouldn't either. _She is mine, she cannot see him again…_The thought had thrown him, surprise ripping through him. Deciding to think on it later, he only wanted to spend the evening with Gwen, to actually have her enjoy the evening instead of constantly bickering and snapping at each other. When he had noticed the Vicompte watching them, though, ice ran through his veins_. He will not take her from me! _Meeting the young lord's gaze, he continued the dance, steadily drawing nearer with each twirl. By the end of the dance, they were only a few yards apart, each trying to stare the other down. Still afraid that the nobleman might be pursuing Gwen, he had tucked her against him, wanting the young man to know, for sure, where her loyalties lay. _You will not have her. Take Christine, keep her, I do not care, but stay away from Gwendolyn, or so help me, I will get past my qualms and put your head on a pike!_ He had felt Gwendolyn pull away from him, he believed her to be getting a drink. And with his eyes on Raoul, she would be safe from the young lord's grasp. _Move towards her, and I _will_ kill you, bastard!_ After what seemed like an eternity, the Vicompte relented, giving him a curt nod and walking away in the other direction. Watching him go, he wondered vaguely if the man had any idea of his identity. _I doubt it, or the bounty hunters will have swarmed me by now._ Occurring to him that Gwen wasn't back yet, he wandered towards the refreshment table. His eyes then suddenly caught on her, a wrenching surprise overtaking him. _Her dress…it is ruined. And her hair_…It had fallen out of the lovely combs, curls tangling around her face. _Her face, her face!_ It was flushed and waxy, her eyes rounded with such strangling depth of emotion, they made him shrink away slightly when he called out to her and they fixed on him. _Something has happened._ Worry, a foreign emotion to him, scratched at his senses as he approached her. Not knowing entirely what to say or do, he irrationally barked questions at her. She had reacted even more irrationally. _'Just get away from me!'_

Seated on the roof of the Opera Populaire, far away from the prying eyes of society, the scream echoed in his mind. Confused and despairing, he dropped his head into his hands, still stunned by the power in it. _What did I do?_ Feeling like he had lost the one person he had dared to care about, again, he sat in veritable agony. _I thought she might have even cared about me…that I might actually have a friend. I am a fool, a fool for believing_. Her scream sounded again and again in his brain_. I do not understand, I do not _understand_…_Her behavior made no sense, and he unreasonably connected it to the only explanation that made sense to him. _She is afraid of me, afraid of my face_. Squeezing his eyes closed against the anguish that threatened to overwhelm him, he cursed himself and the face that had doomed him from birth.


	30. You Can't Be Seen With Me!

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

30

"You Can't Be Seen With Me!"

I didn't know what time it was when I reached my room, immediately locking my door to keep everyone, especially _him_, out. _I never want to see him again. Not ever_. I barely slept for the few hours of the night remaining, wracking sobs wouldn't be contained any longer, I couldn't help the emotion from draining out of me. And I didn't attend work the next morning either, though knowing that the cleanup after the gala would be an immense undertaking. _I just can't go back in there_…Being in the room where everything had crashed down around me only hours before would have been devastating, I wanted only to hide from it.

Kathryn had come by and knocked, I ignored it, though felt a little guilt. She would no doubt ask what happened, and I would have to lie, make up some story about Raoul crushing my heart or something idiotic like that, just because I was obviously a mess. _I want to leave, I want to get out of here_…_can I do that? Even if I hadn't given most of my money to Kathryn, how would I get by? Sure I can understand the language a little better, but I can't speak it at all! How would I find a place to live?_ Laying curled up on my bed, I rolled restlessly to my side, trying to weigh my options. _And the mirror, even though it's broken, it might be my only chance! It's not in the hall again, maybe it's getting fixed somewhere?_ The thought was wishful thinking, I knew, purposefully ignorant to avoid the more frightening thought that it might have been thrown away, gone for good_. I have to find out what happened to it! Someone must know, someone must have cleaned it up!_

My stomach growled, interrupting my monologue and I ignored it, a little afraid that if I opened the door, I would be set upon by people asking questions. Trying to keep fear of losing the mirror and memories of last night at bay, I directed my mind elsewhere. _The show is tonight_…what we had been working on for over a month was finally happening. _I could go see it_…the thought offended_. No, I would have to see people, explain myself. And Fauvre, he will no doubt be there, waiting, watching me, hoping that I call my pet Phantom_. I growled under my breath, so very repulsed by the idea that I felt a stab of queasiness. _Or maybe that's just hunger…I can't sit in here forever. I'm going to have to get something to eat eventually._ I turned to stare at my door, apprehension at the idea building. _While they're at the show, I'll find something to eat. And look for the mirror. _

o o o o o

The evening of the show arrived slowly, he had spent the remainder of the night on the roof, watching the lights and movement of Paris, a pastime he had often found some peace in. This time, though, it had not helped much, watching the sun come up in a magnificent display of color, bathing the city below in reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows. Normally, the rising and setting sun brought him peace and comfort, a reminder that there were things in the world bigger than the Opera Populaire and the torment his face always gave him. It often granted him inspiration as well, granting a light that he was never able to hold onto in his own life, always shrouded in darkness, so he tried to capture the sun's glory in his work. But it did nothing to inspire him or comfort him, the sunrise didn't seem to be able to brighten his misery. _It only reminds me of her…_Of the morning he had spent with Gwen, how he had watched her instead of the sun, feeling that the light it spilt on her looked more radiant than the sunrise itself. Giving up on it, he had delved back into the darkness of the Opera Populaire.

Now preparing for the opening of 'Romeo and Juliet', he didn't feel the normal anticipation that was associated with a new show. He actually seemed to dread it slightly, not wanting to leave the soothing cold darkness of his caverns. _I always attend. I will not break with tradition, it is the only thing I have left…_Pinning his cravat, he stepped back to look at himself. Clothed in all black and donning his white half-mask and cloak, he fit the part of opera ghost perfectly. Sighing at the image though, he found no comfort in that familiarity either, only swelling depression that the life he thought would change instead lingered on, still the same.

He seated himself in Box Five. He no longer had to demand it, the managers automatically set it aside, not necessarily for him, but out of fear that it was cursed. Comfortable in the plush velvet seats, he leaned back, excited opera guests streaming in below him. The clamor died down, the orchestra began warming up, and then started the introduction. As the curtain open, the show began. From his seat, he could not only see the full stage, but a good portion into the wings as well, a position he had always prized, he could see it all. Normally ignoring the wings though, his attention was drawn away from the actors on stage to back into the wings, his eyes set on the workers buzzing around, fetching water and props, helping arrange costumes and set pieces. His eyes darted from person to person, straining to find one in particular. Then he realized that he had been looking for the firebrand and ground his teeth_. Foolishness, weakness_…

He snapped his attention back to the performance, but after only a few more moments, felt his mind slipping back to wonder about Gwen. _Idiot! Pay attention!_ The longer he sat there, though, the more his mind was drawn away from the show, and when he would tune back in, it would take time trying to figure out what had happened. His frustration with himself only grew, finding himself completely unable to focus, reviewing the previous night again and again. Half way through the first act, he couldn't stand it any longer and, enraged at his own weakness and lack of control, quit the Box. Knowing everyone to be watching the show, he felt no qualms in leaving in bright lighting, no cover of shadow available. He strode out to the second floor of the grand entrance hall, growling vicious reprimands to himself. Thrust out of his thoughts by the click of heels on marble floors, he whipped around to face the intruder, only to find an extremely surprised Gwendolyn staring up at him from the Staircase. Incensed, eyes flashing, he snapped at her, deciding she was to blame for his distraction and breaking of tradition.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Surprised melted off her face to reveal a calm disdain.

"I could ask you the same thing. And it's none of your business what I'm doing," She returned, frustratingly. She finished climbing the stairs, and with a glare that could peel paint off of walls, she blew past him, clicking along to the spot where the mirror had hung. He sneered, refusing to be dismissed.

"Hoping it will be back? Ha! It will not be." With a flourish of his cloak, he meant to leave with the parting shot, squashing what he thought to be her hopes.

"What do you mean?" Her voice called behind him, he pausing on the stairs, smiling maliciously, knowing that he had gotten to her. Slowly turning, his eyes blank and emotionless, he shrugged indifferently.

"Simply that the mirror will not be returned. The managers care not for an old mirror, they would more likely just replace it with a newer one. The mirror is gone." He watched emotions flicker across her face, fear being the prominent one. He had thought that watching her writhe a little after making him live through one of the worst nights in his life would make him feel better, but instead he felt pangs of guilt. _An emotion I've been experiencing too often as of late…_

"Gone? Gone where?" Her previously strong voice had lowered into a weak whisper. He shrugged again, he never paid attention to such minor details before.

"I know not. I would assume the garbage," One hand reaching out behind her vaguely, with the other she gripped her forehead, wobbling backward on her feet. The wall against her back, she slid slowly down it, the smallest of whimpers leaving her lips. His anger melted, his body, held rigidly straight with the most imposing dignity he could muster, slumped slightly. The girl was utterly broken, her face in her hands. Facing so much emotion, he didn't know what to do, merely stared, at a loss.

"Gwen…" Approaching her cautiously, he meant to comfort her in any way possible, though not entirely sure what that was. Her face ripping out of her hands, she glared up at him through red eyes, propelling out an arm to stop him.

"No, don't come any closer. You can't be seen with me!" Her voice broke, rough. He didn't understand her meaning, but that didn't seem to matter. Reaching her, he scooped her up off the floor into his arms, she offered little resistance. Then carrying her down the Staircase, he made his way to the emptied dormitories. When they came to her room, he pushed open the door, dropping her into bed.


	31. I Do Not Love Her

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

31

"I Do Not Love Her"

"Gwen…" In a whisper soft enough to rival snowfall, his lulling voice teased at my ears. "Gwen." The soft baritone ripple was more firm, my eyes lowered to see him as he knelt in front of me, his eyes nervous. He had lit the lamp after setting me down, his face to close to the light, clearly illuminating him. The classic white half mask was back, covering half his face, the other half clearly exposed. I had never seen his features clearly before, mask or darkness had always blurred them. I stared, taking in his face. _He's not ugly at all_…Sleek, jet black hair was combed back, black sideburns trailing down his jaw, cloudy green eyes sharply focused on me. Those features I knew, but the angular planes of his face, the high cheek bones, long, square jaw, finely boned nose, heavy eyebrows pulled down in a furrow of intensity that his voice so often conveyed, they were foreign to me. His jaw was cleanly shaven, eyes embraced by visibly thick black lashes, slight dark circles rounding his eyes, not detracting from his face, but enhancing the eyes. His exposed skin was littered with minute scratches, I wondered vaguely what had caused them, as they appeared to still be healing. They didn't detract from his face either, and in the dim light were hardly noticeable. …_He's…attractive_. I could have laughed at the idea, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, known to be supposedly too hideous to live with the rest of humanity, handsome. Now was not the time, though. I could sense his anxiety, it radiated from him.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, reaching up to grasp my hand tenderly. I fought back the urge to warm to him, he was being gentle and sweet, worried about me. I forcibly brought back memories of last night, not allowing myself to lose my anger. Pulling my hand from his, I turned away.

"No, I'm not." _You hurt me. And then you let _him_ hurt me._ My anger began to return, and I wanted him to leave.

"Tell me what is wrong," He implored, but it sounded more like a command, offending me further. I knew I was only making myself get worked up, but I preferred to be angry rather than let him in.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Gwen…" I whirled on him.

"What? 'Gwen' what? What could you possibly say to make me forgive you? You left me! You left me to fight with him! You only care about him and Christine!" _You never stopped loving her_. He pulled back, sharply sucking in breath.

"What are you ranting about, girl! I did nothing of the sort!" My face gnarled into a ferocious scowl, I jabbed him in the chest with my finger.

"You did so! I saw you, you didn't care about me at all, you just went so you could pick a fight with Raoul! I saw how you were staring at him, you were so wrapped up with him that you—you—" I couldn't bring myself to tell him how I had been attacked. How my life and his had been threatened. _He said he would hang him if he came to my aid again. If he's around me again. He might be a frustrating asshole, but if he died…if I was the reason…_My anger collapsed, fear and incredible guilt taking its place. He, though, was still swept up in the fight, demanding I continue.

"What did I do?" He hissed, eyes flashing. I didn't respond, looked away. "Gwendolyn! Tell me!" He gripped my hands again, hard. His grasp on my hands reminded me of the Inspector's the night before, pain shocking my system. I gasped, crying out. The masked man dropped my hands, staring at me, and then shifted his focus to my hands. More gently than ever before, he slowly caught my abused hand, inspecting it with growing horror.

"Gwen…your hand…your fingers are broken." He gazed up at me in dismayed alarm. "What happened to you?"

"I…I can't see you anymore." His eyes flushed with confusion, not understanding. The pain in them was worse, though, I couldn't look at him. _Another person to let him down_…

"Why?" A whisper.

"Fauvre came up to me, at the gala." He sat bolt upright, eyes wide, the hand not grasping mine balled into an enraged fist. He opened his mouth to speak, most likely to yell, but I cut him off. "I'm a danger to you, he said next time you 'come to my aid', he would get you. Something's going to happen, he's going to use me to get to you," Suddenly, it all gushed out, tears flowing again. "And once he captures you, I'll go to prison. So we can't see each other, we have to stop, to stop being—_friends_. You have to go, it really is better for both of us. This way we'll both be safe." I turned away, hugging myself.

"…Gwendolyn…do you want that?" His voice low. I refused to look at him, silently begging him to just leave.

"He scares me." Although I hated admitting that to him more than anything, I wanted him to know that it wasn't him causing me to withdraw. I had been angry with him for being an idiotic jerk, but it didn't seem to matter anymore.

Arms encircling me before I really knew what was happening, like lightening he enfolded me into a crushing embrace, one arm around my waist, the other hand in my hair. The bare cheek pressed against mine in his enormous bear hug, I slowly returned the embrace, wrapped my arms around his neck, not sure what else to do. Squeezing me even tighter, his breath hot against my neck, he spoke into my ear.

"I will not let him near you again. _Never again_. You have _nothing_ to fear." Squishing me one last time into his chest, he abruptly released me. Dazed and slightly confused, I decided to ignore what had just happened, and storing it away to think on it later, I pursued my point, my warning.

"You don't realize what a threat he is! There's more to this world than the Opera Populaire. You don't rule the whole world, and you can't protect me forever. And I can't ask you to," Though his embrace had been both comforting and extremely pleasant, it hadn't quelled my fears. A rare smile pulling at one side of his mouth, he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"You are not asking me, I am telling you. For too long he has been hunting you, Gwendolyn. He hurt you, he broke your fingers, he will not get away with it," His brow furrowed in bitter anger, he shook his head. "…If I had but known, if I had stayed with you instead of letting my own resentments get in the way…Gwendolyn." His eyes snapped back up to mine urgently. "Please forgive me, I did not intend—intend to leave you. I—" He paused, his eyes flitting from mine to dart around the room, suddenly nervous. "He wanted to take you from me, I could not—I could not _let_ him!" He trembled slightly with the vehemence of his statement, I blinked at him, confused.

"Who? Raoul? You thought…you thought Raoul was going to what, carry me off?" Eyes wide with terror, he stared at me. I let out a shout of laughter, the whole thing slightly funny now, and certainly relieving. _He does care! _"Did it ever occur to you that I have a choice in the matter? I'm not just going to let him throw me into the back of his carriage and drive away!" I laughed again, leaning forward to briefly rest my forehead against his, taking advantage of his touchy-feely mood. Focused more on the topic at hand, he didn't seem to really notice the contact, and obviously didn't see the humor in that situation, eyes still wide.

"He has done it before…" His voice was heart-breakingly weak, saturated in sorrow. Hit by the intensity of his grief, I leaned forward to return his first hug, almost trying to squeeze all the pain out of him. He still shook in my arms, with my good hand I stroked his hair. It only lasted a moment. Abruptly, he pulled away, standing sharply, and begun to pace, agitated. Watching him, a question burned on my lips, I had to know.

"Erik…do you still love Christine?" His steps slowed as he gawked at me. I then realized my mistake, I had addressed him by name.

"How…how do you know my name?" His voice barely audible in an astonished whisper that became more threatening than any of his shouts. _Shit!_ I had been hoping that he eventually would tell me his name, an almost sacred secret that he protected with his life. _He never even told Christine, if I remember the book right_… My last secret, how I knew him, I had planned to never tell him, knowing that he wouldn't take it well. It was too late now, I couldn't lie. Taking my time to think of the appropriate words, I looked down at my broken hand, cradling it.

"I've…always known. This is going to sound crazy but—" I cut off, waiting for his reaction. His eyes fiercely impatient, I continued. "I read about you...In the future, you're a…a character." Eyes deadly, he grit his teeth at me, enraged.

"A _character_? In the future!" He spat, the idea apparently repulsive to him. He growled, advancing on me threateningly. Instead of allowing myself to be intimidated, I stood as erect as I could, staring him down, hoping that he would just trust me, to remember the honest conversation we had just been having. _And hoping he doesn't decide to strangle me!_

"Yes, the future…A—A novel was written about this place, the Opera Populaire, in the 19 hundreds. You're in it, all the people here are in it…That's how I know. The author must have met someone who knew, and wrote it all down." _Though he changed everything…_ He leaned over me, bearing down, his eyes positively wrathful. After a few seconds, though, he threw himself away, eyes widening with the realized truth. He shook his head, gripping at his temples.

"No, you are lying to me,"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Erik. I can prove it." He glanced up at me with panicked eyes, dreading, not wanting to believe. Lifting my mattress, I extracted my purse from its hiding spot. Taking out my cell phone, I waved it at him. "Just watch," Holding down the "end" button, my phone buzzed to life, little rainbow lights dancing, the "on" jingle breaking the thin silence. The fearful Phantom shrank back, watching intently as I went to the options menu, selected "my videos", choosing the "Angel of Music" clip, my favorite. The movie bit began, I held the phone up for him to watch. Blanching with intense horror tinged with fascination, he watched the whole scene of the actor, playing "The Phantom" mesmerize the helpless "Christine", drawing her through the mirror to his tunnels below. The clip ended, I lowered the phone, searching his expression for a reaction. He took quick steps backward, his face a collage of combating emotions. I felt a distinct stab of regret and pity, hating myself for so stupidly telling him my last secret. He staggered in disbelief and confusion, I tried to comfort him, not really knowing what to say. "It really was a popular book…"

"A popular book…" He repeated, dazed. He seemed unsteady on his feet, he wavered, knees suddenly buckling. I bolted underneath him, catching the full brunt of his weight as he sagged on me, his legs hardly supporting him at all. Grunting, I dragged him over to my bed, the closest piece of furniture. Sliding off my shoulder, and dropping like a stone onto the bed, he stared, eyes wide, at the ceiling. "A popular book…" Worried and annoyed at the same time, I climbed over his leaden form to sit beside him, leaning once again against the wall.

"Please, Erik, listen. Your name isn't important, and I'll never use it again if you don't want…" I turned my gaze away, unable to even look at him. He blinked rapidly, his eyes darkening. He grew quiet, silent as stone, and I sighed, thinking that this was one fight we wouldn't recover from. _He won't forgive me for this one…He must think I betrayed him. _

"I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner," I whispered to him, preparing myself for him to leave. Instead, he turned to face me, eyes still dark.

"Are there any more secrets, Gwendolyn?" His question surprised me, I smiled gently, earnestly, hoping he was possibly forgiving me after all.

"…There will always be secrets…everyone has them. But I promise you, there are no more like this, no more big ones," He took in my answer, considering it. Standing, his countenance was icy and rigid, still silent he strode to my door. I had thought that my answer would be good enough for him, but as he walked away, I was afraid he really was leaving. Just before reaching the door, he hesitated, his eyes unreadable.

"…'No more like this, no more big ones'… As for Christine…I do not love her." With that, he vanished out the door.

o o o o o

He had retreated to the roof again, not wanting to return to the smothering darkness and silence of his chambers. He felt truly alive tonight, his senses inflamed by his discussion with the girl. _Her last question…It had been certainly unexpected, and unsettling at that. What does it matter to her? Why did she ask?_ His mind rattled through possible answers, none of them satisfactory. Insatiable curiosity gnawed at him, about her question, about her. _Gwendolyn_. _Is—is it possible she_ cares _for me?_ The thought caused him to give a bark of acidic laughter. _Impossible…but…_ _She asked if I still was in love with Christine. Christine…_The name still brought a wide array of emotions, all vaguely unpleasant. Crushing sorrow, followed by anger, hate, guilt, shame…but no need, no wanting. Perhaps a little regret, but it wasn't the all consuming grief he had felt before. She was gone, nothing he could ever do would change that. He hadn't completely accepted it, but no longer wallowed in his need for her_. Something has changed…_

Sliding down off an enormous horseman gargoyle, he began to pace, a regular habit for when he was upset. When she had left, he had thought he would die of his anguish, never able to recover from the fatal blow she had dealt him. _Recover, perhaps I am beginning to…why? How? _He was no longer completely devastated, actually feeling more alive and involved than he ever had before, more connected to humankind, the rest of the world. _No longer isolated in my caverns, left to compose alone of things I only dreamt to experience…_Now the possibility of participating in, really living, life didn't seem so impossible. _Maybe I am not a monster…not anymore. _Ceasing his pacing, he reveled in the thought, swinging up onto another gargoyle to look down on the city_. I have a name. I am a man. Erik. My name is Erik._ Kneeling atop the gargoyle, he felt a swell of pride, pure, untainted by the blood of others_. Gwendolyn, she gave this to me…she gave me a real life…humanity. Yet another debt that I doubt I will ever be able to repay. She saves my life, my very soul, and does not even know it. The woman is incredible. Erik…_


	32. To Know the Man Behind the Ghost

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

32

"To Know the Man Behind the Ghost…"

"He turned ya down? Oh, Gwenny! I'm so sorry!" I laughed as Kathryn grabbed my head and hugged it against her, stroking my hair. Untangling myself from Kathryn's choking embrace, I took her hands in my own, gently to not to jar my broken one. Kathryn had wrapped it securely, I had to tell her a version of what happened. I told her that I had been refused, my heart broken.

"It's fine Kathryn. I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me, really."

"Nonsense! Gwen! You must be devastated!"

"Why is Gwen devastated?" Nathaniel appeared from around a curtain, his arms full of laundry. I grinned at him, despite being a huge hit last night, he still wasn't too proud to help me with the laundry.

"Nothin', Gwen jus' had a hard nigh'." Kathryn replied. Nathaniel raised one brow.

"Not at the performance, surely." I smiled at him, he was generally concerned that I didn't like the show. Carefully not to bump my hand, I took the laundry from him.

"No, not at the performance. And I think I should be congratulating you, Nat, I heard you were amazing." He chuckled, pleased, color rising in his cheeks.

"You give me too much credit, Gwen, I was far from amazing," To which Kathryn snorted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"He's lyin' t' you, 'e was simply wonderful." They beamed at each other, I glanced from one to the other, a faint suspicious smile playing on my lips. _What's going on here?_ Nathaniel suddenly broke the moment, turning to face me, clearing his throat.

"Well…I just wanted to find you ladies to invite you out tonight. To celebrate, and to help Gwen forget her hard night." I shrugged, getting away from the Opera Populaire didn't seem like a bad idea at all.

"I'm in, what about you, Kat?" She nodded, taking Nathaniel's arm. Still curious at them, I pretended to not notice. "We get off at nine tonight. We'll meet you in the entrance hall?" Agreeing for the both of them, Kathryn released him to go finish her work. Nathaniel scooped up another pile of dirty costumes, following me to the washroom. He was quiet, unusual for him, normally talkative and excitable. I wondered about it, feeling like I had missed something. Making a mental note to keep an eye on them, I turned my concentration on my work.

Nathaniel's vision of "out" wasn't what I expected, but better. As I left the washroom with him, he instructed me to wear something nice. Not knowing exactly what that meant, I wore the bright green dress, though it held bad memories for me. _What choice do I have…the white gown is ruined…_Meeting both Nathaniel and Kathryn at the entrance hall, we climbed into a carriage he had arranged for us. Grinning like little girls, Kathryn and I grew more and more excited, expelling theories about where we were off to. The carriage pulled away from the Opera Populaire, the cool evening bit at me through the walls. Nathaniel wrapped an arm around Kathryn's shoulders, I was left to my own devices. Curious but deciding to continue to ignore them for now, I leaned out the window of the carriage, trying to get a look of Paris at night. The city was incredible, the soft glow of gas lanterns illuminating the streets, glossy as the light caught rain-soaked cobblestones. The carriage began to slow, arriving at our destination. I sucked in my breath, we had arrived at a beautifully decorated restaurant. A small crowd was gathered outside, and I recognized the stance of the people within it. My delight shifting to dismay, I recognized them as being aristocracy. We were at yet another gathering of high society, and I fought my growing disgust. _Perfect, one society deathtrap to another one, God, I barely survived the gala night! There isn't a show tonight, I guess they have to flock somewhere…_

"So what do you think?" Nathaniel's voice broke my thoughts, I turned to give him the brightest smile I could manage. _He's trying, and I doubt Kathryn has ever been to a place like this…_I felt suddenly a little underdressed, the people gathered outside were dressed just as grandly as two nights ago, while I had just wore something a bit nicer than normal. _At least I'm not covered in dirt again…_

"I thought that now that I can afford the best, just for a while, mind, that we might as well indulge."

"Nat, but this's so expensive! You should save yer money!" Kathryn, despite her protest though, leaned over me to gap out the window. Nathaniel laughed, getting out to open the door for us, taking our hands as we climbed out of the carriage. Once out, he offered Kathryn his arm, while grabbing me by my elbow.

"Gwen, there's someone I would like you to meet," _It can't be anyone good if I'm meeting them here._ But I gave him a polite, interested smile.

"Oh? You know someone _outside_ of the Opera Populaire, Nat?" I asked lightly, suspicious. He laughed, flashing me a bright grin. A young man pulled away from the mob of nobility, striding purposely towards us.

"Not exactly…Gwen, this is Graham Scott. He's just been hired by the Opera Populaire, and is from the States, like us." The young man gave me a low bow, taking my hand in his. "Graham, this is Gwendolyn Shepherd." When he stood straight again, I almost yanked my hand away in surprise. _He was one of the people with Raoul the other night!_ I remembered his face, Raoul hadn't introduced him, but said that he spoke English.

"A pleasure, Ms. Shepherd. I believe we have met before, though I was most disappointed that we were not formally introduced." Nathaniel started to ask a question, but Kathryn, with no subtly at all, elbowed him squarely in the side. _She must have figured where I met him_…I smiled, faintly amused, and decided to try not to worry too much and just go with it. _Works at the Opera Populaire? Why does everything come back and bite me in the butt…Ok, Gwen, just be careful and hopefully everything will just work out. But I'll have to tell Erik about this new development._

"Yes, that was very unfortunate, Mr. Scott. Raoul can be a little easily distracted. Please, call me Gwen."

"Only if you will call me Graham, Madam. But I feel for the Vicompte, for it is difficult to not be distracted when around such a lovely young lady." He offered me his arm, I blushed profusely, not used to the flattery. _Careful Gwen…_Nathaniel, who was fairly confused, but graciously did not show it, ushered us into the restaurant past the crowd of prying upper class.

We were seated, Nathaniel struck up a conversation on 'Romeo and Juliet', and the evening officially began. Not as awkward or uncomfortable as I thought it would be, the evening progressed quickly, the conversation excellent. Graham listened eagerly to backstage activity, curious. He was especially interested in rumors and stories about the Phantom. The others indulged him, ranting about experiences of others, nothing having ever happening to them themselves. I kept quiet, enjoying listening. Listening to the rumors, I realized how very ridiculous most of them were, usually having nothing to do with Erik at all. _Silly, scared girls making up things that go bump in the night…_Graham though, soaked them up, enthralled. Our meal came, I had gotten an interesting-sounding beef dish, and after first tasting it, pretty much shoveled it up, it was too good to even savor each bite. A quiet orchestra was playing in the background, some couples dancing on a small platform. Nathaniel, earnestly wanting us to enjoy the evening, suggested a dance, and led Kathryn to the floor, Graham and I following. Pulling me into a waltz, Graham kept up conversation.

"Forgive me, but I am surprised that your husband is not accompanying you, Madam." Incredibly grateful that he asked now and not when Kathryn and Nathaniel were around, I nodded.

"Yes, Gabriel doesn't care for social gatherings, as you could probably tell. I'm sorry I had to leave him with you, he no doubt was a bore…" My escort for the evening laughed outright at that, his eyes twinkling.

"Not words I would have used, Madam, but accurate, I am afraid. He was just very quiet, much to the displeasure of the young ladies attending." I smirked.

"Well in that case, I applaud his reserve. The last thing I need is attentive young ladies." I made a face, surprising myself by actually meaning the words. He continued to laugh heartily, and as the music lightened, whisked me into a faster pace. Conversation turned to the Opera Populaire, and back to the subject that fascinated him so much, the Phantom. He asked me what I knew of him, since I remained so quiet before. I shrugged, confessing I knew barely anything about an Opera Ghost. And I didn't exactly feel like I was lying either_. I've been getting to know the man behind the ghost…_And ever since admitting his name, I had felt more than a subtle shift in my feelings for him, he now was a definite person, a man, nothing more of the character I had been so interested in before. The time we had spent together on the roof had made me first really aware of it, he had actually touched me, looked at me like an actual man would, even for just an instant.

For the past few days, despite how much I had wanted to forget him, those looks, those touches, had stayed in my head, mocking me. It had certainly been unsettling realizing my interest in him, the reality of the situation was that he was more warped than anyone I had ever met before, understandably so due to the life he had led. But because of that, feeling for him could be potentially dangerous for us both, I had no idea how the man would actually react. I needed his help more than ever, and if I antagonized him...Spinning there with Graham, I was completely unfocused on his babble, my mind once again on Erik, and my own stupidity. Honestly, after what had happened with Josh, I hadn't really thought that I could be really interested in anyone again, I was too uncomfortable being seen, being touched. At home, I was beyond awkward in my skin, and shrank away from social gatherings, groups of people. Even arriving here, my friendships had developed because of circumstance. Kathryn, because I couldn't have survived without her, and Nathanial because he was so damn persistent. It had taken a long time to get comfortable with them, and I still hadn't been truly honest with them.

And then there was Erik. He was cold, harsh, easily angered, annoyed, and frustrated. He could be really frightening when he wanted to be, and yet, I felt more myself with him than with anyone. _I have to be, I have to stand up for myself with him, I have to challenge him and be strong, or he won't help me, and I'll never get home._ And suddenly, at the gala, being touched and seen had practically been forced upon me, and I had gotten over my unease surprisingly quickly. I had thought it was somehow the place, the whole illusion, but that evening, had realized that it was actually the man himself. With that realization, others had come. _I have a crush on him. A small one, but still…My God, what's wrong with me, he isn't even my type. Good one, Gwen, the one man with whom it would actually and completely never ever work. He can't find out, after what happened with Christine, he'd never accept or even understand how I feel about him. It's safer not to care, for both of us._ _Besides, it's not like I'm hanging around. _I focused back onto the conversation with Graham. The Phantom topic not being very interesting due to my "ignorance" on it, we turned our talk to the opera house in general.

"Yes, I was aware that its ownership has changed hands often, a fact I attribute to the "Phantom" legend. Owners are too afraid to keep on, fearing themselves in danger." I had mentioned how the managers were new to the opera business, they had owned the Opera Populaire for not even a whole year. He continued, leading me through a run of complicated steps. "And it seems, that our current managers have had all but enough themselves," His eyes twinkled, mischievous. My eyes widened, he grinned satisfactorily at my curiosity.

"What do you mean?"

"Simply that there has been talk of the sale of the Opera Populaire…"

"They're selling it! They haven't even owned it a year yet!"

"Rumor has it that if they cannot rid themselves of their little "ghost problem", they will sell. Along with the patron's insistence, that is why they are so eager to capture the cursed man." I laughed, but felt slightly insulted for Erik. _He isn't the problem. He hasn't done anything to them since…that night. _

"I believe, Monsieur, that if our dear managers and patron think that "The Phantom" is the problem, they are mistaken. They should concentrate on the actors, musicians, dancers. That is where their problems lie. No ghost is hurting the Opera Populaire, and the legends are merely helping it bring in income." He laughed, delighted by the passion in my voice.

"I take it that you do not care for the new help they have hired, then? Well, no matter. The Opera Populaire will not close, Madam, if that is what you are worried about. No, I have heard that there are already prospective buyers, if they so choose to sell." I nodded, mulling the information over. _Something that will interest Erik…_We made small talk for the rest of the evening, and at midnight all returned to the carriage. Graham accompanied us still, wanting to "make sure we arrived back safely". It was cute, and he had been charming the entire evening. My time spent with gruff and sullen Erik had made me forget how nice some men could be. Back at the Opera Populaire, he opened my door for me, taking my hand in his, walking me a little ways up the stairs. Nathaniel walked Kathryn inside, the two had been reclusive all evening, excluding Graham and me. I had figured that Nathaniel had most likely set us up on purpose so he could enjoy Kathryn himself. _Little does he know, I already have a husband…_

"Gwendolyn." I smiled at Graham blandly, worn out and my meal sitting heavily in my stomach, making me only more tired.

"Gwendolyn, it has been a true pleasure. I wish to see you again, but I am confident we will see each other here…I would also like to state my wish," He leaned in suddenly, I was aware how close he was. "That you did not have a husband." With that, he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then releasing my arm and jogging back to the carriage. His eyes never left me as it pulled away. I picked up my skirts, climbing the rest of the stairs quickly. The kiss had been sweet, adorable really, but held nothing special for me. Graham was young, though still probably a year or two older than me, but seemed to lack maturity. He was fun to be around certainly, but I liked him as a friend more than anything else. The evening on the whole, though, had been wonderful, and because the past days had been so exhausting and stressful, I welcomed the vacation from reality. Ready to just tuck myself in bed and finally get a full night's sleep, I was a little irritated to see Erik seated in my room, his arms crossed over his chest.


	33. It's in Your Soul

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

33

"It's In Your Soul…"

"Good evening, Gwendolyn." His tone slightly acidic, I struggled not to roll my eyes_. What is it now? The man is moodier than Mom when she was menopausing. Why is it that every time we're together, we fight? I don't think I've spent an entire evening with him when I haven't been angry at some point…_

"Evening, Erik. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He grunted, scowling bitterly.

"I was just on the roof," He replied abruptly.

"Congratulations." I seated myself, thoroughly confused with the conversation we were having, never knowing the man to be anything but direct_. If he has a point, he's taking a strange path to it. _

"I saw you." His relaxed posture tensed as his eyes snapped at me. "With a man." _Ah, there we go. Crazy. Crazy man_. His jealousy was now radiating off of him, thickening the air in the room. Despite his foul disposition, I couldn't help but find it a little amusing, and somewhat flattering.

"I'm allowed to have friends, Erik." I replied simply, smoothing wrinkles out of my skirts, he obviously found my answer unsatisfying.

"Friends that kiss you?" Now I did roll my eyes, already growing tired of this.

"Friends that could have their way with me, for all I care. Nat took us out for a nice evening, and I never get to go out. I was just having fun. You can stop scowling at me, I haven't done anything wrong and there's no need for you to be jealous." He hunched, not enjoying his offense shifting to defense.

"I am _not_ jealous, and you forget yourself, mam'selle." He snarled, but his heart wasn't in it. Grinning, I crossed the room and plopped myself down on the floor in front of him, refusing to be insulted by his gruff manner.

"I have news," His eyes dark, his whole posture sullen, one brow raised in mild interest. "Talk is floating around about the managers selling the Opera Populaire." He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers in thought. I crossed my arms over one of his knees, resting my chin on them. We had shared touches before, but rarely without a specific reason behind them. _He hugged me_…That had been without pretense, it was emotional, it was just him, not some calculated motive. Now, as I leaned on his knee, I waited, warily. It was kind of a test, to see his reaction, to see how comfortable he was with me. I was comfortable with him, I had begun to realize. After my break with Josh, I had been extremely awkward with men, the first I had truly felt comfortable with was Nathaniel, but my relationship with him was different. With Erik, I was unsure, a little confused about the manner of our relationship. More unsure about my feelings for him. But I at least knew I was comfortable. _Everything about him is just so unique and bizarre. And definitely complicated_. _Ok, so those are understatements. To the extreme. Still_…_I wonder how he will react…_My arrangement wasn't lost on him, his eyes flickered down to analyze me, then darted away again. Not before I saw the slight confusion, suspicion, and to my smug glee, controlled acceptance.

"The reason?" He inquired, his normally smooth voice bumpy. I chuckled, quirking a brow at him.

"It seems that they are quite stressed by their ghost problem." The grin on his lips was faint, but present enough to be devious.

"They are fools. Besides the incident in which I unveiled myself to our dear Inspector, they have heard nothing from me." He had apparently decided to ignore our current position, forcing himself into his normal aloof attitude. Although I had put us in this position, I was a little relieved. _The only thing that is predictable about Erik is that he is unpredictable._ He could have very well flown off the handle, or just as easily burst into tears for all I knew. Instead, he contented himself by ignoring me, and the tension I created. I knew it would be uncomfortable when I did it, but was hoping to get beyond it. _I want him to know he can trust me...just like I trust him. _

"Hmm, I know. It seems…that their patron is quite insistent that they capture…_him_… or will cut their funding." His eyes darkened, he gurgled a scratchy growl from deep in his throat.

"I knew that fool would be trouble to… 'him'?" Puzzled green eyes focused on me, I gave him a small, confident smile, sitting up but leaving a hand on his knee.

"There is the Phantom, and then there is you, Erik. Different people."_ He is different, he isn't cold or heartless, he isn't bad or evil, just confused and complicated and sad._ His expression remained bland, but I could see the emotional war behind it.

"…Different people, Gwendolyn?" His voice soft as snowfall, I watched as his face contorted with pain. "What do you know of me? _Nothing_." I pulled away slightly, I had hoped that my comment would reassure him, comfort him. Like always, though, he caught me by surprise.

"Erik, I—"

"No, Gwendolyn! You do not know who I was, _what_ I was!" He surged to his feet, I remained still as stone, not shrinking back. _He wants me to be afraid, but more than that he wants me not to be._ He was the one who moved away, taking to pacing across the room. "My entire life…I have been beaten, tortured, tormented, and _hated_. I am what I was _made_ to be…a monster. Still a monster! I restrain myself, I will not let my nature take me again, not again! Do you know what I was, Gwendolyn? _Do you know?_" He demanded, pausing in his pacing. I opened my mouth, not knowing exactly what to say to comfort him. He didn't give me the chance, continuing. "I was insane! Stark, _raving_ mad!" With a burst of speed, he was kneeling in front of me, gripping my hands with a painful force. I tried not to wince, he had forgotten that one was still broken. "_Insane_, Gwendolyn! Do you not know what that means? What that makes me?" He stared at me, his enflamed eyes locked to mine, wild and panicked and so vulnerable that I became even more uneasy. "It makes me a _danger_, a _danger to you, to anyone and everyone I encounter_! It _consumed_ me…_completely_. I knew nothing of others, only myself and my obsessions. Only my hatred and anger. Only what _I_ wanted. Christine, I would let _nothing_ stand in my way…" He dropped my eyes, collapsing into himself, releasing my hands. His voice was a weary moan, filled with misery and crushed hope. "I am afraid, Gwendolyn. Afraid more than anything that I will be like that again, some _snap_, some simple trigger will make me…_lose myself_…within myself. I am weak, helpless, completely lost, and terrified that the darkness I have been trying to bury does not rise again."

He was a puddle in his dark clothing, seeming to sink lower and lower into himself. "I am a monster… '_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies_…'" He whispered, eyes closing soft tears collecting along his lashes. Everything he said had been heart-wrenchingly horrible, as I stared at him, all I wanted to do was convince him otherwise, prove to him that it wasn't true. _Someone important must have said that to him to make him believe it so blindly. Christine. Christine said it to him._ Not really knowing what to say, still very shocked by his confession, I used my uninjured hand to lightly stroke his hair, something my mother always did when I was a child to calm me. At the soft touch, he let out a despairing sigh, trembling in a crumpled, defeated heap. It wasn't until this very moment I realized the depth of his hurt, caused not only by Christine's abandonment, but by his very life. I scooted next to him on the floor, pulling him close to me in whatever comfort I could offer. I had a feeling that he no longer even realized I was there, only knew his inescapable torment. I reached delicately for his chin, pulling up his face to stare into his eyes.

"That isn't true. Your soul is the same as anyone else's, it isn't distorted, it _isn't_. I don't see the darkness when I look at you, Erik. I don't see evil or insanity. I see a man who has been suffering his entire life, and looked for, hoped for, a way to end it. Someone to help you end it. I didn't know you then, and I'm still trying to know you now, but when I hear what you say, and what happened, I see only desperation. Not wickedness. The suffering you have been through," I ran my hand through his hair, along his jaw and watched green eyes redden and fill with tears. "is enough to drive any man crazy. Few, though, I expect, can pull themselves out of it. I honestly believe that you _have_ pulled yourself out of it, Erik. You're still in pain, you might always be, but…I don't think you will _ever_ be the way you were before again."

"How do you know, Gwendolyn? _How?_ Every day I am in torment…"

"I'll help you, Erik. The best I can. You've saved my life, more than once, I think I owe you one." I gave him a gentle, silly smile, trying to make him lighten. He dashed the tears out of his eyes, but the emotion in them only darkened.

"No, no, you do not 'owe me one'. Little do you know it…you have already saved me from myself." His voice was gritty with emotion.

"What…?"

"I wish not to speak of it." He snapped, looking back into my eyes, scanning them for deceit or fraud. "What do you see that is so worthwhile?! I have done _nothing_ in my life to deserve your kindness, nor you understanding." He was bitter, angry, not with me though, his anger entirely focused on himself. It was fighting an uphill battle, no matter how reassuring I was, or tried to be, he continued to wallow in self-hatred. _I'll keep trying anyway. It's worth it. He's worth it. _

"Erik. What do you feel? Do you still pursue your interests with single-minded obsession? Do you still care _only_ about what you want? …Are there things that—that seem important _besides_ what you want?" I knew that he was different, just knew it. _He doesn't act entirely selfishly anymore, and definitely not with the same motives…I hope I can prove that to him._ He took a few moments to respond, when he did his voice a hesitant croak.

"I…I do not know what I feel…I do not _understand_ it. I—I care about a great many things, so many, many more than I have before. I see pain, suffering, all around me. I never saw that before, people were merely _obstacles_ in the way, _insects_ to be brushed aside, or crushed. And every _one_ of them, always mocking me, _spiting_ me, _hating me_. Now…I see life, I see…and I _care_…And—and every day is different! _Different_, Gwendolyn! I am living, _I am part of the life_! I—I am no longer watching, controlling, manipulating what I thought were obstacles. I no longer only see means to an end, a desire of my own. The days do not run together any longer…and I am not…_alone_." His eyes were widened, fixated on a spot on the wooden floor. "I do not understand it, Gwendolyn." I sucked in a breath, he was opening up completely._ To me_.

"Erik—Erik, look at me." He did so, lifting his gaze with seeming agony to be parted from the floor. "What you feel isn't wrong, or bad. And you should _not_ fear it, what you're feeling…is _humanity_. Is passion, _passion_ for _life_, _for others_! This is a _good_ thing, Erik, a good thing. You're afraid that it might push you over the edge again, but it's actually the opposite! In your insanity, you didn't see others, you only saw yourself and what you wanted. But look at now! Now, you care about other people! Me, Erik, me!" I leaned towards him, seizing one of his drooping hands in my good one, hoping to enforce my point. "You have helped me, saved me, more times than I can count! No one else would have helped me, much less believed me, but _you_ did. It's a _good_ thing you care, Erik! I probably wouldn't be here if you didn't have that passion."

"…Passion…and you, Gwendolyn? Is this how you feel, all the time? Caring about…_everything_?" He said the word with moderate distaste, he didn't care for caring. I had been so filled with pride for him, pushing so hard to make him realize he wasn't a horrible monster, and then it all vanished. I dropped his hand, overcome with sudden shame. _No, I don't feel like that. In fact, before getting here, I didn't feel anything at all. Only pain, only sadness, only exhaustion._ My eyes sliding away from his, I knew he asked for himself, not for me, to see if he was what he thought _I thought _was normal. He was more than normal, he was better than normal. _Most people don't give a rat's ass about much, and I care even less…_I wanted to nod and pat his hand and agree, say "yes, it's what I feel all the time, welcome to the club". _But I can't_.

"Gwen?" He pressed, I sank into myself. "Gwendolyn, do you feel like that?" He reached down to scoop up my hand again, the simple gesture killed me, I sighed, knowing that I had to tell him.

"No, Erik, I don't feel like that…"

"Gwen—" His voice, shallow, painful, as if he was hearing that he wasn't a good person after all. Not wanting to smash all the shaky confidence he was building in himself, I decided that it was time to come completely clean, to lay it all on the table. _To trust him the way he just trusted me. _

"Erik, what you feel is an _incredible_ thing. _Good people_ feel like that…I'm just not one of them." He didn't understand, he opened his mouth to most likely argue with me, to push himself back down his hole of self-hate. I cut him off, not letting him. "I…wasn't happy, Erik. Not with the life I had, what I was doing, or where I was going. I had—_everything_—I have ever wanted, and I've worked for it. I've worked really hard for it. But every day, _every single goddamned day_, I would wake up not wanting any of it, only wanting to be someone else doing something else. Or to just roll over and sleep my life away, not wanting to bother living it." I lifted my eyes to his, attempting to ignore the power of his gaze as he absorbed my words. I hated them, hated them so much, even as I said them. I gave him a weak, half-hearted smile, almost trying to make it a joke. _But it isn't_. "I would _love_ to have your passion, Erik. I want to feel like I've _accomplished_ something with my life, to not feel like I'm just drifting through it…" He remained silent, completely focused on me.

I wanted his gaze to be elsewhere, not boring into my mind, taking in my words. I was frightened, a creeping dread that seemed to unravel, spreading itself through my veins, that he would hear my words and look on me with disdain, contempt. That he would think I was pathetic, stupid, useless. _That he will lose interest in me._ I looked away, not wanting him to see me, almost wishing he would just leave. _It was so much easier when we were talking about him._ "I thought I had it once. With Josh. He made me feel like I was really _worth_ something, that I was a success. This sounds _so stupid_…but each day with him felt like I was going to get somewhere, and that he would support me. And then…" My voice cracked, and horrified and humiliated, I stopped. Tears of shame gathered, threatening to further embarrass me. Suddenly I wanted only to be alone, a desperate need. _He thinks I'm stupid now, a fool. He will have lost interest in me, just like all the others. Just like Josh. _I wanted to make him leave before he did it on his own. _It will be easier that way_. "Please, Erik, just go." I turned away from him, leaning to my side to rest on the chair that he had previously occupied, my face in my hands. My mind began to pump full of memories, my senses clouded.

_I heaved my bag full of my school work and textbooks onto the couch, relieved to get it off of my shoulders. The day had been worse than normal, I had an exam that I wasn't sure I passed. It had been overwhelmingly frustrating, I had spent the past three days studying only to realize that I wasn't studying the right material, the right vocabulary and concepts. Needing someone to vent to, I was only too happy to get home, to run to my fiancé to be comforted. He always knows exactly what to say…On my way home I had bought a tub of ice cream and some chocolate sprinkles. Josh loved chocolate sprinkles. I had envisioned the perfect evening, something I could finally get excited about. He's been working so much recently…I almost never saw him, he stayed out usually past three in the morning, and I had to get up early for class. And by the time I got home in the evenings, he would be gone. Sometimes I would try to wait up for him, but usually ended up passed out on the couch, only to awake the next morning alone. He had left me a message though, saying that he would be home this evening. After my horrible midterm, I called into work, saying that I was sick. I swung by the grocery store to get my 'feel better' supplies, thinking that we would spend an evening on the couch watching old movies and stuffing ourselves with ice cream. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't even pretty, but it sounded like it would be the best time I would have had in months. Tucking the ice cream into the freezer, I headed toward the bedroom with the sprinkles, grinning. I pushed open the door, thinking he was reading, working, possibly napping. But he wasn't. He was in bed, but with someone else. Someone else. I froze, my mind blanked, I was transfixed. They, startled, whirled around to face me, I was still rooted to the floor in outright shock. "Gwen—" He said, I dropped the sprinkles. Unable to say anything, much less yell, I bolted. Grabbing my bag, I rushed down to the car, pumping the gas, driving off. I didn't know where I was really going, I barely saw the road. But something in me must have been in control, as I showed up at my parents' house. As my mother, who had seen my car surge into a parking spot in front, ran to me, pulled me out of the car, the only thing I could think about was the sprinkles. I had gotten them for him. I didn't even like them. _

"Gwendolyn—" Erik's light baritone sliced through my memory, his voice edged with worry. I didn't want to think about it, or him, I just wanted to be alone.

"Leave, Erik." I repeated_. I wasn't able to say anything to Josh, I just let it happen. But I'll be damned if I keep quiet anymore._ My rash emotions didn't even make sense, I just suddenly needed to be in control of something, especially now when everything in my life was in complete disarray. I was irrationally positive that Erik would now see what I really was, worthless, and would leave. Though it was completely senseless, I felt like I had to have control, now. Right Now. And his blatant refusal to give me even control of who was in my room infuriated me.

"No." His reply blunt and resolved, he stared straight into my eyes as I swung around to glare at him. Fuming, I shot to my feet.

"I want you to leave, Erik! Get out of here!" He got to his feet as well, standing several inches above me. I pretended he wasn't bigger than me, anger, shame, and desperation causing me to be unable to back down. He ignored the order, though, reaching out to grasp my shoulders firmly.

"What is wrong with you, woman!? Why have you suddenly transformed into a screaming banshee?" His words had a biting edge, but the words themselves had little power. They struck me out of my abrupt rage, and reeling a little at them, I, just as abruptly, gave a shout of laughter.

"A 'banshee', Erik? Really? A 'banshee'?" _Maybe calling a woman that is offensive in this time? _My anger evaporated, but the stress of it hadn't, my laughter becoming sharp. I slumped forward, pressing the top pf my head into his chest, emotionally exhausted.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have screamed at you…I just…the past…" I couldn't explain, how could I explain? How could I tell him how afraid I was that he wouldn't like me anymore? I could I tell him that I wasn't a good person, I hated the person that I had become in my life before, that I had let myself become? He awkwardly patted my head, not comforting me in the least. The gesture was at least an attempt, and coming from him, that meant more than the gesture itself.

"If you so choose, you will tell me when you are ready…I want to—thank you—for your kind words tonight." His silken baritone was strangled, and I pulled away to look up at him. Though only a minute or two before I wanted him to leave and never come back, I was disappointed now, he was retreating. _But he stayed when it was important…He's new at this whole caring-about-people thing, you can't expect him to be stellar at it immediately. I'm sure I must have freaked him out…No doubt he needs a break._ The man over-analyzed everything, he most likely wanted to go hide somewhere and think things over. I gave him a wobbly smile, trying to calm myself.

"I'm sorry again for being so crazy…and I meant every word." Wanting to cement that for him, I leaned forward and planted a light kiss on his exposed cheek, the white half-mask covering the other side. He tensed, and a hundred emotions passed over his face, through his eyes, before he rigidly controlled himself. Spinning swiftly around, he muttered a choking "goodnight" before throwing himself out the door and away.

I smiled lightly at the door, his footsteps had been silent, but he was no doubt far away by now. My smile pulled into a slow frown though, and I wrapped my arms around myself, hurriedly locking the door. Blowing out my lamp, I crawled into bed, but despite my exhaustion, physical and emotional, my mind wouldn't allow me to drift away, anchored in thought. He hadn't really reacted the way I thought he would, the way I was so sure he would. He listened, eyes only dark with concern rather than contempt. He refused to leave during my mini-meltdown, he snapped me out of it, however unintentionally. If I concentrated, I could feel his firm grip on my arms, remember his intensity as he stared unflinchingly back into my eyes. I had never really stood up for myself in my previous life, and although I felt a little embarrassment about my outburst, I couldn't help feel a twinge of pride at my ability to stand up to him. _I always have been able to...with him._ The thought caught me unawares, I blinked into the darkness with surprise. He had frightened me somewhat before I knew him, I asserted myself then, and when he raged at me, I never backed down. _I even would yell right back at him…_

I laughed a little into the pitch around me. _Somehow, the man always brings out my craziness…_I had always been compromising, trying to please everyone around me even at the sake of my own happiness. Memories of Josh came unbidden, too many times I had accommodated him, sacrificed myself for him. _Something about this place, about these people…_I still would try to help others out, and cared a great deal for my friends, but was ultimately concentrated on myself. _Is that a bad thing? Has this place made me selfish, or stronger? Able to say no? Able to push back? I always hated being such a doormat…_I considered my past experiences with Erik. He certainly had an aggressive, uncompromising, fierce personality, and had expressed it in every encounter we shared. He had attempted to intimidate me, frighten me, dominate me, push me, in every encounter as well, even this evening. But I hadn't let him. _I wouldn't go as far as to say he's met his match, but I will not let him boss me around or control me._ I thought on my life at home, wondering. _Would I have let him manipulate me then? Would I have let him walk all over me?_ I wanted to think that I wouldn't have, but realistically, knew that I most likely would. _I've changed. I've…_changed.

o o o o o

He found himself on the roof once again, perched on a gargoyle overlooking the entirety of Paris. Moonlight pierced the hazy clouds, illuminating the darkened city before him, the dim houses and shadowed streets glowed softly silver. The evening was cool, but absolutely still, not even a gentle breeze breaking the silence of the night. The only sound interrupting the gentle calm were a frustrated, confused, masked man's muted curses. _That girl! No, that _woman_! Does she ever begin to make sense? Do any of them?! _His experience with women lacking, he couldn't tell if he was dealing with a typical woman or had somehow managed to ally himself with the one mad one in the whole of Paris. _For_ _willingly acquainting herself with me, she must be mad…_Even through his harsh, scornful thoughts, though, he felt an uncomfortable lightness. His heart was still beating rapidly, adrenaline still thrusting through his veins. His thoughts were scattered, muddled, the only thing he could adamantly concentrate on was Gwendolyn's apparent insanity, and his own for associating with her. _My thoughts fly apart…I cannot think! What is happening to me!_

He grabbed his head with an almost painful grasp, if trying to crush his thoughts together again. In the process, he brushed the cheek she had pressed her lips to, sending inadvertent chills down his back, through his limbs. Removing his gloves, he lightly pressed his fingers back against the cheek, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to remember, relive, what it had felt like. The attempt, though, only caused further confusion. _She…_kissed_ me. I have never felt such a touch…willingly. What—what is she playing at? She does this to me on purpose!_ He groaned, sinking his face into his bare hands, mind reeling. _Why? Why! No one has ever _willingly_ kissed me! Not Christine—she did it to save her fool lover! Not even my _owncursedmother He shook slightly in the cool air, not noticing his discomfort through his dizzying bafflement_…She believes me not to be a monster. She said she would help me recover, _recover_! She thinks that it was merely an illness to recover from! How can this be? Is it possible?...She said she would help. _Help meNo one_ helps me! _No one cares Unable to actually appreciate her words, at the change in himself, even though he knew it to be true, he wildly grasped at his old way of thinking. _She says that, she_ believes _that! But she hasn't seen my face! She will desert me, leave me, like they all do. Like Christine did_.

Trembling now more with emotion than cold, he reach up to brush his fingers across the place she had kissed him again. He wanted to believe more than anything, though, that she wouldn't run. _She kissed me, without force! By her own accord!_ Though he tried to fight it, tried to convince himself that he was being foolish and that he would only once again be left to die alone, hope rose within him none the less. _Perhaps—perhaps she will be different. It had to have meant_ something He lifted his eyes to the moon, the stars winked, strong, constant. The wisps of clouds shifted above him from an assumed gentle breeze, it stroked his face with its cool touch as it passed. He felt humbled, shamed, over all of his misdeeds, undeserving of what he hoped he was receiving. _Someone that cares._ Cares _for_ me…_Please_. Early in his life he had turned his back on a higher power, a loving God, feeling that He must have turned his back on him at birth. _When He cursed me with this face, he turned away from me, doomed me to Hell on Earth. But perhaps…he has not turned away, not yet. _The heavens, though cold, distant, seemed closer than he had ever seen before, brighter, casting the glorious glow down on the humble city below. _Down on me, on everything._ Inspiration seized him, filled him, but he knew its cause was not only the heavens above. His eyes washed over Paris, marveling, whispering a tender, heartfelt tune to himself, one of hope. His voice died away, but he remained still, staring up at the moon. He didn't want to realize, didn't _want_ to understand the swell of hope within him, the near desperation, that she would care for him. _Care for me as I care for her._

Continuing to gaze at the moon, he did something he hadn't done for over twenty years. Knowing he wouldn't survive another heartbreak, he prayed.


	34. A Kiss to Make It Better

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

34

"A Kiss to Make It Better"

"What do you mean, 'you're going out'? Kat!" My arms crossed over my chest, I gave Kathryn a sour glare, she merely rolled her eyes at me.

"Gwenny, You've done nothin' but hide in yer room for the pas' _three days_, and now you suddenly want t' go out? I got plans!"

"With _Nathaniel_?" I snarled, feeling alone and cut off. The truth was, I had been half-hiding from, and half-hoping to see, Erik. The man had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet, though, I had heard nor seen anything from him since our discussion three days ago. I had stayed in my room except when I was working, I skipped meals, refused to go out in the evenings. The outing invitations were becoming less regular, Kathryn and Nathaniel wanted to see each other outside of the Opera Populaire, outside of work. Though I was getting a sort of cabin fever, I didn't want to spend my time with them when they were together, I felt like a third wheel. It irritated me, feeling awkward with my closest friends, especially friends who came together because of _me_. It also didn't escape me that Nathaniel had lost his somewhat obvious feelings for me, and although I never had much of an interest in him, I resented the loss of the attention. Attention that was only friendly now, his focus mostly on Kathryn. I was happy for them, for the most part, but jealous of their sudden bond. Another source of irritation was Fauvre, he was around me almost constantly, I could do nothing to stop him. I knew, he was just waiting for Erik to make an appearance. _Maybe that's why he's hiding from me._ But buried doubts kept bubbling upward despite the logical thought. I couldn't help but feel that he was avoiding me, that I had finally scared him away_. I shouldn't have kissed him. I probably undid all of the progress he was making…Dammit!_ And when I finally tired of hiding from the world, Kathryn was leaving me. Her lips thinned, she set her hands on her hips, casting me an annoyed glare that seemed all too similar to the one my own mother often gave me.

"Yes, with Nathaniel," Her expression softened. "Gwen…Gwenny, I know these pas' few weeks have been hard for ya, yer heart bein' broken, and tha' damnable Inspector always watchin' ya'…How abou' you an' I go out tomorrow? Jus' the two of us? No icky boys?" She joked, poking me in the ribs playfully. I laughed, my bitterness evaporating.

"Sounds exactly what I need." I gave her a squeeze of a hug. "Thanks, really. You guys have fun tonight." I gave her a wink, and she waved as she closed her door, finishing her preparations for her evening with Nathaniel. _They do make a cute couple…I'm just so sick of being ignored! _My thoughts shifted angrily to the masked man that had been haunting them too often as of late. _What's his problem! He's acting like I have the plague or something…_

o o o o o

His cape and fine suit covered in dust, torn, stained, his shoes scuffed, and drenched in sweat, Erik tossed another shattered old prop aside. It splintered behind him, he ignored it, intent on his search. He had found himself unable to sleep the night of his discussion with Gwendolyn, restless. It was not his typical brand of agitation, either, but rather a need to do something productive, positive. In the older days, he would pace the halls of the Opera Populaire, hunt the performers, play merciless pranks, and drop letters to the managers with rabid instructions. That night though, he had set into a fevered playing, composing, in his caverns, filled with bright inspiration. The music he had created was different as well, not saturated with hate, anger, greed, lust, the darkest of human emotion. Its intertwining harmonies not haunting or discordant, but light and lofty, swelling with joy, wonder. He had sat at his organ for nearly twelve hours, ignoring all but the most urgent bodily needs, forgoing sleep, and food. When his fingers, shoulders, and back began to ache too badly to continue, he reviewed his work, almost surprised to see he had written an aria, an aria for a soprano. Nearly satisfied with it, lightly humming the tune two octaves lower he made his way to his chambers, dropping himself into bed. When he woke, he realized that the inspiration lingered, but no longer to write. _To help._ _To help the woman that has given me so much…_His confusion hadn't cleared, he had been almost grateful for his surge of inspiration, a reason to stay away from her until he hoped he could figure himself out. The only thing he had come to realize, though, was how _much_ he cared for her, how much he wanted to give her whatever she needed. _The mirror, the mirror is what she wants, what she needs…_

Only an hour later, he began his quest for the broken mirror, digging through one of the many upper cellars in which old pieces of props were stored. The doors had been locked, early in the Opera Populaire's' lifetime there had been thefts from the storerooms, when they still contained valuable objects. Though they were now only filled with junk, the doors remained locked out of tradition's sake. During his reign as resident Phantom, though, he had long ago made copies of the managers' master keys, the only keys that could open the doors, so access to the cellars wasn't a challenge. They were mostly garbage, or were pieces from operas performed years, decades, ago, all mildewed and covered in dust and cobwebs. He had been searching for nearly two days now, surrounded by piles of cracked wood, scraps of fabric, damaged props. _Idiots!_ _Why do they even _keep_ this garbage!_ The thought had rifled through his mind frequently, especially after he would catch his jacket on a broken nail, or step on glass. It was an off chance, he knew, but unless the managers really did have it hauled away, it was entirely possible the mirror would have been scrapped, thrown into one of the upper store cellars. The cellar was dimly lit by a candelabrum he had brought with him, perched on what appeared to be an old dresser with a side smashed in. He was getting further and further away from the light, relying mainly on his excellent eyesight to guide him. Sweat ran down the back of his neck, he had draped his heavy, ripped cloak on a lopsided chair. Climbing over an upturned bed, still with its dingy mattress, he felt glass crunch under his shoe, making him lose his balance as it slid across the slick stone floors. Tripping forward, he grabbed wildly about, his hand clamping down on a heavy, textured, metal bar lined with shards of glass. Grunting as the glass bit into his skin, he tore his hand away, awarding the glass with a vicious grimace. About to move on, his brow furrowed, he leaned closer to inspect the offending object. _The_ _mirror!_ The textured bar he had grabbed at was none other than the gilded frame, pieces of glass still tucked into it. Wiping the blood from his palm onto his pants, he ran a finger down the frame. It seemed to be still intact, only missing most of the glass in the middle. Careful to not grasp more glass, he gently lifted the mirror away, and blowing out the candelabrum and throwing his cape over his shoulder, left the cellar.

o o o o o

I swiped some food from the kitchens, and headed back to my room, planning on dropping it off and washing up before I ate it. Secretly though, I hoped that Erik would be waiting for me, seated in the corner chair, his classic brusque scowl on his face, his gloved hands folded into his lap. My arms full, I managed to turn the doorknob with my elbow, pushing the door open with my hip. The lamp was lit, my eyes darted to the seat in the corner, but it was empty. Pushing aside the small pulse of disappointment, I dropped my meal on my bed, moving to my dresser to pull out some fresh clothes.

"New mirror, Mam'selle?" A smarmy voice called out. I spun from the dresser, my eyes meeting the threatening form of Fauvre. He was standing in my doorway, an eyebrow cocked. My eyes darted around the room, landing on the shattered remains of an old gilded mirror, the glass all gone but for a few pieces lining the edges. I couldn't help the sharp intake of breath at the site, I had thought there was no hope of finding it. _Erik! He must have found it! _Joy flooded me, but controlling myself, I turned cold eyes onto Faurve.

"Obviously not, Monsieur Inspector. As you can see, the glass is all but gone." I wanted to demand why he was here, what he thought he was doing. His brutal eyes locked on me, as if trying to read my mind. Then, after a moment, he nodded slowly.

"I do see that, Mam'selle. Where, might I ask, did you acquire such a mirror?"

"I bought it that way." I snapped out, then mentally scolded myself for such a stupid lie.

"You bought a broken mirror?" His voice humorous, but no less threatening. _He obviously doesn't believe me…not that I'm telling the truth anyway. _

"Yes…it was less expensive this way. Might I inquire where I might get it fixed, Monsieur?" I asked sweetly. My palms were sweating, and it was talking all of my strength not to scream out, either at him or for someone else to help me. He shot me a snarl, and turned on his heel to leave. _What the hell was that about! Now _that_ man is insane! _I strode quickly to the door and closed it, locking it. Cautiously returning to my dresser, yanking a clean dress out, I cried out in panic when another voice cut the air.

"You saw the mirror?" Whirling, I clutched at my chest as I discovered Erik, leaning against the door, swathed in his normal cloud of black cloth.

"Dammit, Erik! How the hell did you get in here! I locked the door!" I shouted at him, panic unraveling into anger. He smirked, and held up what looked like a little piece of metal. _He picked my lock!_

"Haven't you ever heard of privacy!?" I snarled at him, turning once again to my dresser, slamming the door shut. "You scared the shit out of me!" He made a face, a strange contradiction to the severe blankness of the white mask that hung on one side of his face.

"Graceful, Gwendolyn. Indulge me, is this how all young ladies thank people in your time?"

"You could have at least knocked…" I muttered, tossing the dress to him. He placed it on the bed as I knelt in front of the mirror. "It really looks like the right one…Are you sure it's the right one?" He shrugged noncommittally, snatching an apple from my bed and striding over to stand above me. Biting into the apple, he ran his other hand over the frame.

"It certainly looks like the correct mirror…Why was _Fauvre_ leaving your room?" His voice shifted from nonchalant and relaxed to an agitated bark. I swiveled my head around and up to shoot him a frank stare.

"Because he's scary, and creepy, and gross, and wants to freak me out." I stood, brushing the mirror's dust off my hands. "I didn't invite him in, if that's what you think." The anger leaked out of his eyes when I stood, flickering over me as if he was noticing our close proximity. He had been standing over me, when I also stood, I found myself practically against him. He took a swift step back, his face dark, annoyed. Irritated by his apparent disgust for me, I stalked away, grabbing my clean clothes and heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" Erik side-stepped in front of the door, his face alarmed. I sighed heavily. _How is it that he always knows exactly how to bug me_?

"I'm disgusting, as you yourself have noticed. I want to take a bath, so if you don't mind…"

"You cannot leave, Fauvre is still about!"

"Erik—" I grit at him, my already strained patience dwindling.

"Are you angry with me?!" He abruptly demanded, I gaped at him in utter astonishment.

"What?" I returned, dumbly.

"You do not seem pleased with the mirror," His voice was actually punctuated with hurt, my irritation melted away. _My God! I've been so pissy that I didn't even remember to thank him! He went to so much trouble!_

"Erik—I'm so sorry!" Dropping the dress, I jumped at him, snapping my arms around his neck in a sudden hug. He grunted, surprised, but accepted my embrace, wrapping his own arms around my waist. "I'm so, so sorry, I've been just terrible and pissy and an all around bitch to everybody…" I dropped back down off of my tip-toes, sliding my hands down to rest on his chest. His arms remained around my waist firmly. "And none of you deserve it, I think I'm just going out of my mind here…" He said nothing, but crushed me in another embrace, dropping his head down against my neck. I sighed, inhaling his calming scent. Musk, parchment, ink, other scents that I couldn't identify combined into one familiar one, one that hung on my clothing, in my room, after he would leave. The stress on me lifted somewhat, I grinned into his shoulder at my own silliness. "Thank you so much, Erik. For everything." I whispered as he pulled away. He gave me a curt nod. "Where did you find it?" I asked as he leaned into the door once again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It was thrown into one of the old prop cellars. Though they hold more garbage than props…" I surveyed it, my brows knitting as I noticed dried blood on a piece of glass.

"Erik…did you cut yourself?" His rigid form suddenly became sheepish, he hesitantly held aloft his hand, peeling off the glove to reveal a blood-soaked bandage.

"My god, Erik! Did you clean it out at least?" His eyes shifted away from mine. I scowled at his negligence, striding over to my wash basin to fill it with water and soap. Marching back over to him, I seized his arm and dragged him to the basin, carefully peeling off the make-shift bandage. He grit his teeth, but made no sound. I thrust his hand into the water, he hissed. Still scowling at him, I sat down smartly in the chair.

"Just keep it in there for a few minutes, let it soak. The mirror isn't worth your hand getting infected and falling off, Erik!" I scolded him, and then clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes wide. _I sound just like my mother, ugh!_ I laughed outright at that, he shot me a quizzical look, but kept his hand in the water.

"You don't want to know…" I hoped that would be enough of an explanation, and he didn't press the point. I returned to my dresser, pulling out a clean bandage for him. Since my fingers were broken, I kept spares easily available. He held he hand out, I bound it as gently as I could. He inspected my work, I held up my own hand. "Now we're both cripples." I teased, he snorted, pressing on the covered gash.

"It will be some time before I can play again…" He muttered under his breath, and I felt a stab of guilt. _The only thing the man loves in his life is music and playing, and I took it away from him._ Gently taking his hand, I pressed a soft kiss on the bandage over the cut, remembering how my mother used to do it to my own scrapes and bruises_. I really believed it made them better, maybe this will help him too. _

"A kiss to make it better," I said lightly, repeated what my mother used to say. Another quote came to mind, I spouted it off without really thinking, a few lines from 'King Lear'. "'Restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!'" I chuckled under my breath. The gesture and line were silly, but looking up into his eyes, I quieted, as he didn't seem to think they were.

"'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not, To those fresh morning drops upon the rose…'" He mumbled, staring with intense eyes. The phrase rang a bell in my head before I even processed it.

"That's Shakespeare! 'Love's Labour's Lost'!" He pulled away, finding a sudden fascination with his hand, prodding it slightly. "You've read Shakespeare?" I demanded eagerly. He gave me an indifferent nod, still rubbing at his hand. "How much?"

"All that I can." He had inadvertently stumbled over one of my passions, Shakespeare being the rare literature that I actually enjoyed in school, and the classes on him the few in English that I could get through. I was excited about it, amazed that there was something we actually had in common. Erik, though, had withdrawn, stroking at his hand. _He's_ _so weird, I just don't get him sometimes. _

"Erik? Are you alright? You didn't lose a lot of blood or anything, did you?" He glanced up at me with thick, painful eyes, I could actually see him close himself off, put up a wall.

"I am…fine. Goodnight, Gwendolyn." Utterly confused, I watched him leave, locking the door on his way out. _He was so open before, he's told me things that I'm positive he's never told anyone else…_I scooped up my dress on the floor, not really wanting to go to the bathes anymore. Leaning in front of the mirror, I stroked its frame lightly, sighing. _He must have gone to so much trouble…why? I know he kind of thinks that he owes me, for whatever reason, but that wouldn't cause him to go find the mirror…Maybe he feels bad for me, pities me! Or maybe he just wants me as far away as possible! _Grumbling under my breath, I removed the food from my bed, ripping off a piece of bread and putting all of my irritation into the chewing. _"So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not, To those fresh morning drops upon the rose…"...That's so…adorably sweet. He not only understood my quote, but then said _that_! …And then he went all grumpy again. __I just don't understand him, one minute he's all huggy and spilling his soul and _almost_ charming, and the next he's all sullen and angry! He must be the king of P.M.S.—pissy male syndrome. And he _always_ is able to make me upset! But then…he usually makes me feel better too. I doubt I've cried so much in front of one person in my life, it's so embarrassing! And I've screamed at him _so_ much…I've never been comfortable enough with myself to be able to do that, not even with Mom. With all that, why do I always look forward to seeing him? I was so mad at him for not visiting these past few days…"Are you angry with me?!" _His demanding question surfaced_. I _was_ mad at him…I was _so_ mad at him. Why? Because he wasn't around? _I snorted, blowing out my lamp. _Yes, because he wasn't around. I'm stupid, he was in some hole looking for the mirror, cutting up his precious hands, all for me, and I was up here just getting more and more angry at him! Have I always been this stupid, or is this a recent development? Maybe this place is bad for me…or maybe I just really like his company. Maybe I just really like him, maybe this isn't just a meaningless crush._ I chuckled at the thought._ The former Phantom of the Opera…_The more I thought on it, though, the less funny it seemed. _No, Erik. I really like Erik. _In the darkness, I rubbed my eyes with my palms, groaning. …_I—I think I might be falling for him. Dammit! Stupid, stupid! Ugh, it's official, I'm a dumbass._ _I'll just have to ignore it…This is going to be hard. Well, "What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger."_


	35. Now That's Romantic

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

35

"Now That's Romantic…"

The next day was a frenzy of activity, Kathryn and I finally were able to talk without other people, mostly Nathaniel, hanging around. I still liked the man, I was just still a bit jealous of him stealing away my best friend here. I wanted to blame him for the kind of fallout Kathryn and I had been suffering through, but I knew, if I was honest with myself, that the fault was my own. _I've never been honest with her…maybe it's time to start. Baby steps. After all, "the good I stand on is my truth and honesty"…And I owe it to her. _Working together like we used to, we gathered the dirty costumes and took them to the laundry in preparation for the night's performance. I asked about her evening, she described how they went to a common restaurant for dinner, nothing as fancy as the night after the opening. Still, she had a good time, describing how the customers would provide each other with entertainment. Word had gotten around that he was the lead in the Opera Populaire's new show, and he had wound up serenading her in front of the entire patronage of the restaurant, as well as the cooks and servers.

"I always loved hearin' 'im sing, Gwenny. It jus' makes my 'eart do back flips!" She fanned herself with a fluttering hand, I laughed agreeing.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I love guys that can sing. When I was in school, there was this tenor who was just amazing! I had the biggest crush on him…" I chuckled. "It wasn't just the voice, though. I guess I just thought they were more romantic." Kathryn snorted at that.

"No' bloody likely. No, Natty's jus' special. All the other singers 'ere…romance is _no'_ wha' they care about." I nodded, putting more force into my laundry churning.

"I guess most romance has just died out, along with chivalry." Kathryn agreed, complaining that though Nathaniel magically serenaded her, he forgot to bring his wallet, and she ended up paying for the meal. I tried to sympathize, but ended up just choking on barely contained laughter.

"Luckily fer me, it wasn't much…I suppose yer right, romance is dyin' out. Though, I did 'ear somethin' interestin' the other day…"

"Hmmm?"

"About the Phantom." I paused in my stirring, sharply glancing up at her. _I'm not ready to give up that secret yet!_ She continued, though, unaware of my sudden panic.

"I 'eard that 'e _is_ really a ghost, and 'e stays 'cause 'e's lookin' for his lost love, forever wanderin' the halls 'til he finds 'er again. Now _that's_ romantic." _And stupid._

"I guess," I muttered. She randomly paused in her own work, flashing me a grin, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

"Well, if yer no' interested in tha', I know somethin' you will be interested in."

"What?"

"Graham! Graham Scott! You know how 'e's workin' here now? Well, 'e was talkin' to Nat the other day, and 'e asked about you! Nat thinks 'e _really_ likes you! …Too bad 'e thinks yer married. Don't know how tha' idea got in 'is head…" Her brow furrowed slightly, her excitement clouded by mild confusion.

"Oh! I told him I was married!" I blurted. She gave me a puzzled stare, and I rushed to continue. "Well, you know how I went to the gala? Well, I met someone there, and he was really nice and absolutely insisted that he escort me, and I didn't want to turn him down, so I let him. I really only wanted to talk to the man I was—interested—in, but he wouldn't leave me alone, and then I saw him! Well, Graham was with him, and I didn't know what to say in front of all those people and panicked a little, and I didn't want the man I was interested in to think that I was there alone looking for him, so I lied. I said he was my husband. Graham must have heard it." _More lies! I'm actually getting worse! What the hell happened to the baby steps! Ugh! _Kathryn's face wrinkled up as she attempted to absorb my words.

"You," She poked me in the shoulder, "are a very odd girl…So…this man 'ho accompanied ya, wha' was 'e like?" I grinned at her over my shoulder as I bent to collect the wet laundry.

"I'll tell you later, I promise." Conversation drifted to another bit of juicy gossip, and I made a mental note to try and do better. The rest of the afternoon passed fairly quickly, we actually got our work done early. Taking advantage of the extra time, we headed out of the Opera Populaire to do a bit of shopping.

o o o o o

He had missed several performances now of the Opera Populaire's comeback show, something that, when he realized it, rankled deeply within him. _I have _never_ missed a show before, this firebrand woman comes into my life, and I have missed three! Even when Christine was present I would not miss a performance…truth be told, though, she was often in them, while Gwendolyn is not._ His thoughts lingered on the girl, he was allowing himself to become far too close to her. _I am a fool, my thoughts center on her too frequently, my feelings for her dictate my every action. If I continue, she will leave, and I will not survive in the wake. I am truly digging my own grave…_Enough!_ Enough of this, I have struggled too greatly to return to what I was. She will be my downfall. I will simply limit my interactions with her. Starting now. Right now. I will not see her again until—until…_He sat at his organ, unable to compose, his mind too tightly wrought on the girl for him to concentrate on anything else. He had started to write another aria, again for a soprano, a certain raspy voice in mind. But with the thoughts of her voice, he then wandered to their last meeting, the way she had held his bare hand in hers, the way she had tried to stop his pain. _No one has ever done anything like that for me, they have always caused pain. Perhaps she truly does care._ He had felt sudden elation at the thought, wanting to know if it could be true. _If she could care for me...You know she will not, but it is a possibility. No, stop. It is impossible. _

Never the less, he was no longer content with sitting alone in his darkened caverns, hoping to spend more time with her. _Even if she does not care, she still abides my presence. A great step beyond any other of human kind…I wonder if she would like to see the opera with me…_The thought came unbidden, jostling him. _This has gone _too_ far! Erik, you idiot! You let another woman control you, _why_ am I so foolish! I have helped her enough, I am endangering myself, my sanity. I am in danger of becoming what I once was, I cannot allow this! I must tell her that I will help her no more! She has her mirror, let her go, leave me, before I become lost…_Setting his jaw, he callously shoved away his own unwillingness to let her go. _It is necessary. Vital. I will tell her _nowWith each step closer to her room, though, he felt more and more reluctant, more nervous about what she would say, how she would react. _A sensible person would graciously accept it, aware of all the help they have received. A sensible person...Gwendolyn is far from sensible. I do not believe this will go well…She will hate me for this..._

Reaching her door, he froze before it. Unwilling to push it open. _…She is the only one who has _ever_ treated me like a person, a man. I could not bear her scorn, much less her hatred. And here I stand, about to bring it down upon myself. I can survive everyone else's, I always have, but the one person who has shown me affection, kindness, understanding? _No_. No, I cannot do this._ Sucking in his breath, he felt the desperate need just to see her again, just to talk to her. _Especially after last night…_He had realized after her excitement over the Shakespeare, when he had fled to be alone on the rooftop, that he knew nothing of her interests, her family, not even much about where she had come from, the future_. I care more about her than anyone else, and I know nothing of her. I must speak with her!_

"Gwendolyn?" He pushed open the door, sliding into the room. It was empty. _Where did that blasted girl go now? _

He discovered her in the entrance hall, leaving the Opera Populaire with her English friend, arms linked, laughing. A feeling he was quite familiar with crawled up his spine, and he glowered, jealousy burning within him. _Look at her! Going out with her friends while I am tormented over the very thought of her!_ He wanted to call after her, make her stop, to pay attention to him, to notice him. But they pushed through the doors, still laughing, oblivious to him. Bitter, he mentally debated briefly about what to do.

"Gwen, ya promised tell me more abou' the gentleman you were with tha' night," The English woman's voice wafted to the where he stood on the second level. _What gentleman?! What night!_ Startled and incensed, his jealousy and bitterness increased tenfold, and needing to know more, he flew down the Grand Staircase to follow them, only to halt in front of the doors. _I have only set foot outside the opera house once in fifteen years…to follow Christine_. They were getting farther and farther away, harder to track. Pressured, his envious need overcame his better judgment and he hurried after the retreating pair into the streets of Paris.


	36. I Dare to Dream for More

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

36

"I Dare to Dream for More…"

"There isn't much to say about him Kathryn, it was all kind of weird," _At least that's true._ We sauntered along the sidewalks, looking at the displays in the windows, admiring clothing, shoes, jewelry. I noticed a banner hanging in the windows of one of the boutiques, multiple languages claiming 'the newest fashions' were available inside. _The newest fashions…right. _

"Well, alright, I know why, but wha' was 'e like?" She replied, jabbing her elbow into my side playfully. I laughed and scrambled away from her, and then rolled my eyes as she pretended to plead. "You've scarcely giv'n me any details a' all. It was masked, so ya didn't see 'is face, but wha' was 'e like?" I sighed, I had been hoping to avoid thinking about him, he already dominated my thoughts.

"I thought you said no icky boys allowed."

"Tut tut, Gwenny. No' allowed to come, yes, but we're still allowed to talk about 'em." I didn't put up too much of a fight, I hadn't been able to vent my frustration or adoration of Erik to anyone before. _And she wants to know..._

"He was tall, broad shoulders, fairly young. I guess around thirty or so…arrogant, frustrating…" _How does one describe Erik? He really is bizarre…_ "…almost charming, certainly attentive, almost possessively… I didn't see his face, but he had black hair that was combed, gelled maybe, into place with sideburns going down to about here," I pointed to a spot on my jaw between my chin and ear. "Really intense green eyes, dark, but sharp, like he was always focusing, always analyzing everything, thinking about what everyone said, did…I guess that's what makes him such good conversation…when he isn't being really annoying. He really was incredibly smart, and a good dancer. And that _voice_! You could tell he was in music just listening to his voice, it just makes shivers run up my spine!" I wiggled to illustrate, and she laughed, grinning broadly, eyeing me with a sneaky delight. I continued to think on him, nearly forgetting Kathryn was even there. "Sometimes, though, he can just drive me so crazy! Some of the things he says, and does…Ugh! They just hit a nerve! _No one _has ever been able to get at me like he does! Then again, I don't think I've ever told anyone off before him either…And you know what's weird? No matter how often I scream at him, he always comes back. He might be angry, but he always forgives me. Even when I'm being a psycho-bitch. He really doesn't seem like the forgiving type, you know? But he does. It's not just that either, he can be really sweet without even knowing it, and really gentle. Of course, then he ruins it by being a complete nut-job or by flying off the handle or something, and then I scream at him again…it's like some big, messed-up cycle. But he still comes back, and he still helps me. It's a little hard to believe."

"If I didn't know ya better, my girl, I would say tha' you liked 'im. I'm t' understand you've seen 'im since the gala?" I gave her a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, I have…and I don't know if I like him. Maybe." I lied, a blush deepening my cheeks.

"Yer blushing, Gwen," She chuckled.

"Oh, be quiet…" She merely laughed harder, linking her arm through mine again. Conversation ceased, and I was glad to let it die. _I told her more than I should have…I didn't even realize…_Pausing while Kathryn admired some goods, I surveyed the streets of Paris. I hadn't left the Opera Populaire since our night out, and was once again delighted by the sight of early Paris. _If only it smelled better_…I inhaled deeply, knowing the smell to be unpleasant, but doing it just to prove my mental point. It complied, a gust of wind carrying a disgusting composite of unsanitary humanity, but at the end a memorable fragrance…_Smells like…Erik._ I shook my head, hoping to dispel my thoughts of him. _This is getting annoying. No more Erik, Gwen. Stop it. _

"Gwenny, come wit' me into this shop!" Kathryn snagged my arm, towing me behind her into the boutique. Frilly gowns, petite hats with feather plumes larger than the actual hats, decorative corsets, lingerie, the shop had everything a stuffed and puffed up woman could want. All beautiful, all vastly out of my price range. Grabbing a tag, I blanched.

"Ugh! Look how expensive this is! Gross!" Kathryn hovered over the lingerie and corsets, stroking the fabrics, feeling the lace. Glancing around to make sure no one heard her, she batted wide eyes at me.

"We migh' not be able to afford 'em, but who says we can't try 'em on?" I laughed as she wickedly chose some frilly garments to try on, shoving some into my hands. As she disappeared into a fitting room, I held up the tiny whale-bone corset. _Hells no…She might be used to wearing these things, but I'm not…_I hung the garments back up and perused the shelves. Making my way to the jewelry case, I leaned towards it, eyeing bracelets and broaches, rings, earrings and necklaces, all heavy set with precious stones. One in particular caught my eye. Simpler than the rest, it was a plain silver chain with an interesting silver charm, appearing to be a Celtic design. In the middle of the swirling charm, a small iridescent grey pearl sat, catching the light. The shopkeep obviously didn't think I was good enough to have entered the store, and when I asked to look at it more closely, the man sniffed, and very reluctantly opened the case. A firm grasp on the chain at all times, he watched me suspiciously as I held the charm aloft, inspecting it more closely.

"Gwen?" Kathryn's voice called from somewhere behind the racks of fluff, frill and silk.

"Over here," I answered, not bothering to look up at her approach. She came around beside me, leaning in to inspect it.

"Hmm, looks like a Celtic peace kno'. Symbolizin' peace with oneself , with others, an' in relationships," I ran my thumb over it longingly as she spoke, wondering vaguely how she knew that.

"It's beautiful…" Standing erect, I let go of the charm, giving the shopkeep a bland smile. We left the shop, continuing on our way.

"You didn't wan' it?" Kathryn inquired, brow furrowed. I waved a vague hand.

"Oh, I loved it, but I really can't afford something like that. You didn't see any pretty panties that you needed?" Her laughter a bark, she clapped me on the shoulder, pulling me in for an affectionate squeeze.

"Nah, nothin' touches this body bu' the best," I doubled over in laughter, only her arm keeping me upright as we marched along the sidewalk.

o o o o o

Offensively bright sunlight streamed down on his form, he pulled deeper into his hooded cloak, hoping to remain a mere shadow in the light. His eyes were having difficulty focusing, though they easily adjusted to the darkness, he could see perfectly well in near pitch. Wind whipped around his body, billowing in his cloak, beating at his masked face within the hood. The commotion of the busy Paris streets slapped at his ears, he cringed against it, his ears too finely tuned for opera. All of his senses, so adapted to the even, human-tempered environment of the Opera Populaire, he could barely stand the outdoors. Glaring through the wind at the women, he wondered if they were as insulted by the elements as he was. _They are laughing, joking! They do not even notice!_ Scowling bitterly as the wind continued to buffet his face, he felt further pangs of jealousy resurface. _Friendship. They act like it is so very easy_…Staying far behind the pair of women, he relied on his exceptional hearing to pick up what was said. The English friend was pestering Gwen, prodding her for details on "the man". Eager to hear about her mystery acquaintance himself, and hoping that it was not the young man she had been with before, he picked up his pace, hoping to decrease the distance between them without being noticed.

"There isn't much to say about him Kathryn, it was all kind of weird," He caught Gwen's voice first.

"Well, alright, I know why, but wha' was 'e like?" Kathryn, the English woman, continued to pester her for details, poking Gwendolyn with her elbow. The other laughed, dodging away. "You've scarcely giv'n me any details a' all. It was masked, so ya didn't see 'is face, but wha' was 'e like?" _Masked? Are they speaking of the gala? Does she mean that insolent, stupid, foolish _fop_ of a boy!?_ His muscles tensed in outrage, shortly followed by sudden despair. _He has…he has done it again…stealing the one thing I care about…_The firebrand's voice continued to carry in the wind.

"I thought you said no icky boys allowed."

"Tut tut, Gwenny. No' allowed to come, yes, but we're still allowed to talk about 'em."

"He was tall, broad shoulders, fairly young. I guess around thirty or so…arrogant, frustrating…almost charming, certainly attentive, almost possessively… I didn't see his face, but he had black hair that was combed, gelled maybe, into place with sideburns going down to about here." She pointed at her jaw, he squinted, confused. _The Vicompte does not have black hair…has she lost her senses entirely?_ "Really intense green eyes, dark, but sharp, like he was always focusing, always analyzing everything, thinking about what everyone said, did…I guess that's what makes him such good conversation…when he isn't being really annoying. He really was incredibly smart, and a good dancer. And that _voice_! You could tell he was in music just listening to his voice, it just makes shivers run up my spine!" She wriggled, copper curls bouncing in the wind. Her companion laughed as his feet stopped moving forward, stunned.

Astonishment swelling within him, he smothered an exclamation, fearing to be noticed during such a precious moment. _She is not speaking of that idiot boy at all! She—she's talking about _meHe fumbled, luckily unnoticed by the women, sucked in breath to quell his shock. His knees wobbled threateningly, he sagged against a brick wall to collect himself _She thinks I am smart, she thinks I am a good dancer, she _likes_ my voice! _He glanced up at their retreating figures, dazed, and slightly puzzled. _Can she be sincere? She is telling the truth? _He choked a little, and then tried to catch his breath as he hurried to stay within earshot, the women continuing on, still completely oblivious to him.

"Sometimes, though, he can just drive me so crazy! Some of the things he says, and does…Ugh! They just hit a nerve! _No one _has ever been able to get at me like he does! Then again, I don't think I've ever told anyone off before him either…And you know what's weird? No matter how often I scream at him, he always comes back. He might be angry, but he always forgives me. Even when I'm being a psycho-bitch. He really doesn't seem like the forgiving type, you know? But he does. It's not just that either, he can be really sweet without even knowing it, and really gentle. Of course, then he ruins it by being a complete nut-job or by flying off the handle or something, and then I scream at him again…it's like some big, messed-up cycle. But he still comes back, and he still helps me. It's a little hard to believe." He hung on her every word, enthralled despite the harshness of some. _She truly is not _afraid_ of me, she truly does not hate me! We do fight so very often, I cannot help myself, the girl drives me mad! But she does not despise me for it, does not think I am a monster! Truly!_ He had heard her before when she had said she didn't think that of him, but it didn't really make an impact until now. Floored by her opinion of him, it was all he could do to stay behind them, listening.

"If I didn't know ya better, my girl, I would say tha' you liked 'im. I'm t' understand you've seen 'im since the gala?" He inhaled quickly at that._ She has not told the English woman who I am!? _Gwendolyn gave no further details, only vague answers, and he relaxed. _No, she would not betray me. The other has no indication who I am…_

"Yeah, I have…and I don't know if I like him. Maybe." _She didn't say_ no He felt like he was hyperventilating, and gave up his hunt, unable to continue. The offensive sunlight seemed blinding now, its rays unbearably hot despite the coolness of the late fall air. Nearly falling into the wall beside him, he pressed his masked face into his hands, forcing himself to take deep breaths. The women kept on, ignorant of the collapsing man behind them. _She actually praised me! Spoke highly of me! How is this possible! This cannot be happening…_

"Yer blushing, Gwen," She chuckled.

"Oh, be quiet…"

Familiar suspicion, disbelief, tickled at his mind, but he shoved it back, too high on hope to give into it. Feeling lighter than he could ever remember, he stood up again, scurrying to catch up with the women. They had disappeared, and for a second he thought he had lost them, but caught Gwen's voice floating through the doorway of a small shop, its door propped open enticingly. Peering in, he watched as the English woman piled decorative undergarments into her arms. Sudden embarrassment struck him, he turned away, feeling like he had just seen something he shouldn't have. He had never seen a woman in garments such as those, always fully clothed. Though he could, with the thousands of perches he used to observe the goings on of the Opera Populaire, he never allowed himself, believing such spying base. _Only the lowest of men would watch a woman undress from a hole in the wall_…His mind shot to Joseph Buquet, the perverted fool who had attempted to stalk him, only entangling himself in the flies and suffocating himself. _Not that I tried to help him_…At the time, he had felt nothing for the man except a smug satisfaction, justice in that the old fool would die while attempting to hunt the hunter. Now, he looked back on the incident with intense shame, horror, and disgust_. The Phantom was in control then…I am no longer him…I am just Erik._ Glancing back into the window, he observed the firebrand fingering a simple silver necklette_. How could I have thought to abandon her? She that has given me a new life, new hope! _A genuine smile pulled at his mouth. _Given me friendship. I dare to dream for more. _


	37. Can't Tell Erik

37

"Can't Tell Erik"

We ended up spending a little, treating ourselves to a fancy feast of ham and cheese on baguettes and mugs of cheap cherry wine. Kathryn had spent a little more getting a present for Elizabeth, a small doll with a hand-painted porcelain face. Dusk had descended upon us before we made it back to the Opera Populaire. I was in high spirits, we had passed several finery shops that carried beautiful mirrors, and the next "rest day" we had, the days between the shows, I planned to return them and find out where one could get a mirror fixed. That, and the wonderful day I had with Kathryn, our friendship mended, made me happier than I had been in quite a while. Giddy, and perhaps a little tipsy, as I didn't feel entirely steady on my feet, we hobbled back to the opera house, clinging to each other. I wanted to just fall into bed and sleep away my wooziness, but a foreign object lying on my pillow distracted me from that mission. _What the_….? An envelope. Ripping it open, I pulled out the folded letter written in familiar scratchy scrawl, I squinted over the writing in the dim candlelight.

_Gwendolyn, _

_I humbly request your forgiveness for my behavior as of late, and sincerely hope that you will accept this small token. My apologies. _

_Yours,_

_O.G._

An astonished grin broke across my face. _He _apologized_! There was nothing to apologize for, I'm the one that's been so crazy…but still, I can't believe he did it! _Scooping up the envelope, I moved to put it on my nightstand when something heavy fell out. With a soft poof it hit my pillow, grabbing at the candlelight, glinting enticingly. My breath caught as I picked up the object. _The necklace…_The silver chain and charm that I had admired in the shop hours ago weighed in my palm. Tripping over to the candle, I gazed at it more closely, its simplistic beauty fascinating. _How…how did he get this? How did he know…?_ Although I tried to suppress it, glee bubbled up from within, I grinned more broadly, putting on the necklace. Blowing out the candle, I sank into my bed.

"If you're out there, thank you…" I mumbled, drifting into sleep.

- - -

"Gwendolyn! Gwen!" The morning had come too early, the general commotion snapping me out of dreams in which I would have liked to have stayed. _Me, Erik, a puppy, my apartment…alas, 'tis not to be._ I was now delivering costumes to their individual performers, or their assistants, still thinking on the dreams. They had been exceptionally vivid, and it seemed disappointingly unfair of life to give them without a trace of hope that they would ever come true. A familiar voice broke my reverie, I glanced up to see Nathaniel approaching with Graham Scott. He was a nice young man, but was probably the last person, besides the Inspector, that I wanted to see. _Ugh, now I have to come clean…Probably what I deserve anyway. _Nathaniel was grinning broadly, surprisingly Graham was too. Though I felt a little sour at their interrupting my daydreams, I had to smile back, a little caught up in their excitement.

"What are you two so happy about?" Nathaniel clasped my hands in greeting, Graham bowed, delicately kissing the back of my hand.

"Marie is hoarse as a toad. I believe she must have woken up with it, so the understudy is performing." Marie was the large, irate diva playing Juliet, and Nathaniel despised her, only despising that he had to play her lover more than the actress herself. I chuckled, then turned to Graham, who was still clutching my hand.

"And you, Mr. Scott? Surely you're not delighting in her sickness as well." His smile broadened.

"Actually, no, Miss Shepherd. I was merely smiling at the news that you, are in fact, not married." I forced as charming a laugh as I could muster. _He doesn't seem mad…_

"Please forgive me for the deception, Mr. Scott. A gala full of sneaky young nobles is a dangerous place for a lady without an escort. I wanted only to visit with a friend, not deal with intrigues and gossip." He nodded, emphatically.

"I understand perfectly, Miss—" I held up a hand.

"Gwen. Just Gwen."

"Gwen." He bowed once more over my hand, and although I was flattered, I mostly wanted him to let go. He opened his mouth probably to spout more fluffy language, and I was secretly grateful when Nathaniel cut in.

"Will you be attending the show tonight, Gwen?" I gave him a grim smile, shaking my head.

"Sorry, Nat, but I have to work in the wings tonight. I'll watch as much as I can from the sidelines…"

"The wings?" He grimaced slightly.

"Yes, I will be fetching water, costumes, props…anything to make you actors' lives easier." He noted my sarcastic tone and chuckled accordingly, apologetic.

"You will have my gratitude then, I will seek you out whenever I wish for a drink. A favor, though? The understudy is nearly as screechy as Marie, perhaps you could give me something stronger than water?" I laughed at that, picturing a wobbly Romeo warbling out his declaration of love to a horrified Juliet.

"If you want to see me fired. Otherwise, I'm sure you'll manage. Will you be attending the performance tonight, Mr. Scott?"

"Graham, if you please, Gwen. Yes, I will be in attendance. I have _business_ to conduct…"

"Business?" He was being vague on purpose, I had no idea why. _What could he possibly be doing _at_ the show? _

"Monsieur Clark!" The three of us glanced towards the stage, Mssr. Reyer was calling for Nathaniel. He shifted towards us again, giving each of us a brief nod.

"See you at the show…" Jogging onto the stage, he began to belt out his duet with the understudy. I chuckled, and then focused back on Graham.

"Forgive me, but I must get back to work." He gave be another bow.

"Perhaps I will see you after this evening's triumph?" He questioned, eyes adorably hopeful. I dismissed the urge to roll mine. _He's cute, but no_…I curtsied a little in response.

"Perhaps. Good bye, Graham." With that, I retreated backstage, a little relieved to be rid of him. There was nothing wrong with him, he was pleasant, charming, nice, I just wasn't interested. Normally I would be jumping with just the attention. _What's different?_ I knew the answer already. It wasn't _Graham's_ attention that I wanted. Handing out the rest of the costumes slung over my arm, I wondered if Erik was around, sneaking along the flies. Instinctively glancing above, I was almost disappointed when I didn't see anything.

"Don't be stupid," I snarled at myself, forcing my mind back to my work.

- - -

The hours seemed to melt away, before I knew it, the audience members were filtering into the stage hall, shuffling into their seats, chattering excitedly. I hung in the wings, peeking at the performers scurrying around in effort to get ready before the curtains parted.

"Gwen!" A strong hand grabbed at my arm, I was jerked backward to face a panicky Nathaniel. I hadn't been around to see him pre-show before, and briefly wondered if his behavior now was normal. He quickly dispelled that thought, though.

"Nice tights, Nat—"

"Gwen, please listen! I just saw Fauvre backstage! I think he is looking for you!"

"_What_, what the hell do you mean '_he's looking for me'_!" His eyes were wide, his expression alone was enough to unsettle me. The fact that the Inspector could be _looking_ for me scared the crap out of me.

"I do no know what he wants, but I saw him back there, looking for something! You should leave, now!" A thunderous roar of clapping drowned out all sound, Nathaniel was already screaming over it, pushing me away. The commotion alone made me nervous, Nathaniel's warning close to frantic.

"I can't! If you haven't noticed, Nathaniel, the stage director is keeping tabs on everybody's work! I have to be here! _Dammit_!" I viciously rubbed my face with my palms, and then raked my fingers through my hair, trying to calm myself. My eyes darted up to Nathaniel, who was still gripping me, urging me to flee. Behind him, the curtains began to raise. "Go, go! I'll be fine, go!" I shoved him backwards, and with a glance behind, he jogged to his place as the curtain lifted. Spinning away, I anxiously smoothed by apron, forcing myself to carry on. _I haven't done anything wrong, everything's fine, I'm fine._ Before I had even walked five feet away, someone thrust a rosebush into my arms, directing me to put it on stage during the scene shift. The first act was a blur, I didn't even have time to think about Fauvre, and didn't see him anywhere on my trips to backstage. Beginning to think that either Nathaniel was mistaken, or that the Inspector had left, I went to fetch fresh water for the performers.

The pitcher full, I jostled my way through the crowds of hyper actors, streaming into the wings as the curtains closed. In the surge of bodies, most of the water ended up sloshed all over the front of my dress. Barking out some curses, I was still unnoticed, and stomped into the back to attempt to dry off. Shoving open the back doors, I let out a yelp as I discovered Fauvre, his stocky figure hunched over a tall, clothed rectangle. Hoping that he didn't see me, I swiftly stepped backwards, meaning to disappear through the doors. My luck, typically, was against me as his gaze swung up to meet me, a droll smirk hanging on his thin lips.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Shepherd, exactly whom I wanted to see." I stiffened, trying not to appear uneasy. _I haven't done anything wrong. There are people around, he can't do anything. _

"Really, Inspector? And why is that?" His lips curled into an unpleasant smile.

"Just a few questions, Mam'selle…Pertaining to this," He lifted the cloth, revealing a large gold gilt frame with shards of glass splintered around the edges of the frame. _My mirror!_ I gaped, then quickly closed my mouth, but he had already seen my reaction. _Too late now, he already knows it's mine. He no doubt stole it from my room! Bastard!_ My plan to find a place to get the glass replaced, get it fixed, pop back through to the right time, and spend the rest of my life in therapy convincing myself that it didn't happen was suddenly in danger. The man I hated most in life, besides Josh of course, was now manhandling the vital object. _My future is in danger, I need that mirror!_ My need emboldened me, I glared at Fauvre with sharp eyes.

"I see you have my mirror, Inspector. What are your questions?" He sneered at me.

"This is not _your_ mirror, Mam'selle. You stole this mirror from the Opera Populaire!"

"I didn't steal anything!" I hissed back at him.

"Then how did you get it? I _know_ this was the mirror that was shattered in the Grand Hall! Once shattered, it was placed in the storeroom in the cellars until it was to be restored!"

"I—"

"But _you_ do not have access to those cellars, Mam'selle Shepherd! _No one_ does, only the stagehands that put it there, under the direction of the managers themselves, who received their master keys back as soon as the job was completed! So, my question remains, how did you get it?" Taken aback, I had no idea what to say_. The doors were all locked…?_ My mouth opened and closed several times, what came out was the same lame ass story I had told him before, my mind blanking.

"I—I bought it—" He actually laughed at that, closing the distance between us. Circling me, he returned to the mirror, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

"Mademoiselle, we _both_ know that you did not buy it. And we _both_ know that you did _not_ collect it from the cellars…Perhaps someone more…_familiar_…with them gave you the mirror? Perhaps someone who is rumored to live in the mythical caverns under the opera house?" He jeered, running his hands over the frame. "A lovely mirror…how unfortunate it was broken. I wonder, Mam'selle Shepherd, why would you want a broken, inaccessible mirror? Why is it so desirable to you that you would order your little pet ghost to go fetch it?" All I could do was shake my head in disbelief and slight horror. The man knew more that I could have ever thought possible, he knew things about the mirror that _I_ didn't know.

"I—I don't! It isn't!" I blurted, drowning. My composure was gone, thoroughly shaken. That, unfortunately, seemed to be what he was expecting to hear.

"I see…then you would not mind if I were to…smash this fine piece of artistry." Gripping the sides of the frame, he hefted the mirror above his head. I couldn't help myself, I took a staggering step forward, reaching out in a futile attempt to save it, believing that he would truly destroy it right in front of me. I didn't even know if it would work with the glass replaced, but was dead sure that it wouldn't after it had been in pieces. He held it in place though, chuckling to himself_. I can't believe I fell for that! Dammit, dirty, rotten, fucking bastard!_ I snarled at him as he gently put it down, fuming, my cheeks burning in rage.

"As I thought. The mirror _is_ valuable to you…" Caressing the frame with a stubby finger, he straightened, eyes hardening. "Now. I very much doubt that you will tell me the reason behind your wanting of it, but considering your reaction, I will assume that it is indeed very important. Therefore, Mademoiselle, we each have something that the other wants. You know the location of my quarry, the infamous Opera Ghost, and I have your mirror," He leaned against it, several glass shards tumbled from the frame, clinking on the floor, making me cringe. "So. What I propose is this; you deliver to me your Ghost, and I will return your mirror unscathed." My insides seemed to freeze, even my heart seemed to stop as I stared at him. _He wants me to give him Erik…or I'll never get home again. If I don't, I'll never see my family, my friends…I'll be _stuck_ here. I'll be scrubbing the laundry of arrogant asses the rest of my life. I'll live in that little fucking 'cupboard under the stairs' dormitory forever. I will have to put up with the sexism, poverty, back-breaking labor, hiding my true self from my friends…who are more than likely going to get fucking married and leave…I don't think I could put up with Erik's bullshit and temper for the rest of my life. Is he really _worth_ it? For me to give up everything I had! My career, my education? What has he done for me, anyway? Helped me get the mirror so I could leave! He probably wants me gone anyway, so he can pine after _Christine!

"I—I—" He cut me off with a slice of his hand.

"Do not answer me now, Mademoiselle Shepherd. You must consider my proposal. You have until the evening of the next performance, two days from now. I will keep the mirror until then. Choose wisely, Mam'selle. Good evening." He wrapped the mirror up in the cloth again, tucking it under his arm, heading towards the back exit of the backstage area. _What am I going to do?! That rotten, fucking _bastard_! URGH! I wish Erik had just killed him that night!...Erik. Oh my God, what am I going to do? If I don't turn in Erik, he'll smash my only way home…I _want_ to go home! I _hate_ this place! _FuckI stumbled to a wall, and my body sagged against it, my knees no longer able to support my weight. Tears didn't fall though, I felt nothing, no sorrow, no shame. Only empty. _I can't tell Erik. _


	38. Problems?

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

38

"Problems?"

The show apparently went off without a hitch, but I saw none of it. Curled up against the same wall for nearly twenty minutes, my mind boiled with indecision. When I was finally discovered, I was sent back to work. Fauvre had vanished with my mirror, though I kept an eye out for him, perhaps for a chance to reason with the foul man, he didn't reappear. After the show, Nathaniel exuberantly invited me out with him, Graham, Kathryn, and a few others from the cast attending as well. I feigned exhaustion to get out of it, though I felt more awake than I had ever been. Graham was the most sorely disappointed, apparently whatever his business had been hadn't gone well. He was more than caring, insisting he escort me to my rooms. I was too distracted to be at all suspicious or unwilling, I merely nodded away as he took my arm, gently asking me to direct him. I asked him vaguely if he would be holding up the group, he responded stating that he would meet them later as "more time, even mere minutes, with you is worth days, weeks, months, with them". I joked "why not years", and we shared a weary laugh. It was adorable, his charming, innocent courting equally so, but I was too stressed to really pay attention to him. He continued to try, though, striking up a conversation about the show, asking me what went on behind stage.

"Any Phantom sightings, perhaps? I heard he was meant to deliver his notes to the performers…" I shrugged, not really paying attention.

"Yes, but he is meant to watch in Box Five until after the show, and then deliver his notes. So Box Five would be where to find him," I replied distantly. Graham seemed exceeding interested in this information, asking if I knew anything else about him. But we had arrived at my door, and he graciously surrendered my arm, sweeping into a bow, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

"Another time, I hope, dear Gwendolyn." I smiled in response, said goodnight, and retreated to my room, slumping against my door as soon as it was closed. I had privately been worrying, my mind wracking, over seeing Erik this evening, terrified that he would be seated in the chair that seemed to be specifically reserved for him, waiting for me. Guilt chewed at my insides, I dipped my face back into my hands. I hadn't yet come to a complete decision, resorting for the sixth time to pros and cons of each. Every time, giving up Erik for the mirror won in pros. And every time, I dishearteningly pushed away those results. I locked my door before crawling into bed, silently dreading that he would once again pick the lock and let himself in. _How can I face him? How can I even look at him. I can't, I can't…_

_- - -_

The "rest day", the one in which I was hoping to fix my mirror and pop back home, was a mocking reminder of the choice I had to make. For once, there was very little to do, my assignments were finished quickly, and when I would have had work to occupy my mind, now I had nothing. Needing to escape and get some air, and probably hide from Erik, I left the Opera Populaire on a long, roundabout stroll through Paris. There was surprisingly little of interest to see, the Eiffel Tower having not even been built yet. _I finally get to Paris, and the stupid Eiffel Tower isn't even built yet!_ By dusk, I ended up in front of Notre Dame, another of the many sights in Paris that I always wanted to see. Slipping inside to warm up after being in the brisk late autumn air, I was awed by the majesty of the building, the breath-taking beauty of it. I found, though, that I could not completely appreciate its wonder, the guilt still gnawing at me only worsened by being in such a pure place. Cowed by my own inner turmoil, I quit the cathedral for the building that had become my poor excuse for a home.

Crowds of cheery performers littered the stairway leading up to the opera house, as well as the grand entrance hall. Feeling grouchy and antisocial, I fled the boisterous groups as quickly as possible, preferring the dark corridors of the gut of the Opera Populaire. I didn't want to return to my room, still somewhat fearing Erik would be in there, waiting. The deadline for my decision was drawing nearer, I only had one day left. I was restless, anxious, filled with shame, and angry because of it. The rhythmic clicking of my heels on the wooden planks of the floor became bruising stomps as I tried to vent my anger, to literally walk it off. I was so intent on my stomping and mental raging, that the fleeting shadows nearby didn't register. Only when I walked flat into Erik's cloaked chest did I even notice him.

"Distracted, Gwendolyn? I had thought you to be observant…" I was in no mood for his infuriating sarcasm, his presence only seemed to further impress on me the encroaching deadline.

"Usually I am, but I thought we were beyond the point where I had to be checking in the shadows for you. Normally you just pick my lock." I sniped back at him, he wasn't offended in the least, chuckling, seeming to enjoy the verbal sparring. His wisp of a smile faded, though, when he recognized me to be in a bad mood.

"Problems?" He must have asked only out of concern, but his tone was clipped, still slightly sarcastic, and it irritated me.

"None that _you_ have to worry about." I returned, attempting to push past him. _For now. _Annoyed that I was annoyed, he refused to let me move around him.

"Then what are you seething about, woman? Did your latest suitor forget to send you flowers, or did you tear a hole in a pretty new dress that he bought you?" The blow was obscure as well as low, and insulted, I grit my teeth up at him, and brutally shoved my way past him.

"I don't need anyone to buy anything for me!" I snarled back at him, but he quickly caught up with me, seizing my arm. I was tiring to people touching me, and ripped my arm away.

"You seemed to snap up the gift _I_ bought you!" He barked back. I inwardly cringed, he had a point. All of my shame and anger with myself though was quickly becoming fixed on him, as if he were the source of my problems. I outwardly ignored him, continuing on my wandering path. "Where are you going!" He shouted at me as I started to climb a winding staircase. _Up. Up and away!_ I thought bitterly at him, but said nothing, huffing. The first staircase brought me to a second, and wanting to make distance between us, I climbed that one as well. And the next, and the next. Finally, the only thing left was a dwindling, thin ladder, its top pressing into the ceiling above. Eyeing a handle on the ceiling, I climbed the ladder as well, shoving my weight against the handle of a trapdoor in the ceiling. After a few seconds, it gave way, bursting upward. A slap of cold air hit me just as the wonder of the night stars did as well, I hurriedly clambered up through the door and onto the rooftop of the Opera Populaire.

Above the city lights, the stars seemed endless, the moon reachable. The rooftop was embellished with large stone gargoyles bathed in moonlight, most of them enormous horsemen standing on their rearing steeds, grasping at the sky above. The entirety of Paris lay beyond, I crept towards a ledge, wrapping my arms around me against the frigid wind, to get a better view. I had never seen it in the moonlight, it was breath-taking.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Erik's rich baritone mumbled from nearby as he strode to stand behind me, lightly placing his hands on my shoulders. I tensed at the touch, he immediately released me, turning away. I knew I had offended him, we had grown at least a little comfortable with touches between us, but rarely did he ever initiate it. Every time, I knew it was an enormous leap for him to even risk touching me. _He thought he could trust me. And I've let him down._ I slowly followed him, my hand slipping into my collar to retrieve the necklace he had given me only days before.

"Erik," I began, firmly. "Why did you give me this?" His manner was shielded, he had just put himself out on a limb and I had involuntarily rejected him, all together too aware of my impending decision. Shooting me an indifferent, aloof glance, he scoffed.

"Woman often enjoy such useless trifles," His tone brusque, meant to be offensive. I tried to not let my hackles rise again, but was struggling.

"You _followed_ me. _Out_ of the Opera Populaire." It was an accusation, and another slap in his face.

"I go where I please." He snarled, baited.

"Why did you follow me, Erik! What possible reason—!"

"I have reason enough! To make sure _you_ do not entertain your _foolish friends_ with your intimate knowledge of the Phantom, Gwendolyn! That _you_ do not tell them what you know! That _you_—"

"You were _spying_ on me!" I screamed at him, losing what little restraint I had left. "You _spied_ on me to find out if I was telling people about you!?"

"Was I not correct—"

"What the _hell_ are you talking about!?"

"_You_!" He roared back, hands that had been mangling at the air in frustration flew out to point at me. "You have been talking about me to your—your _foolish_, _ignorant_, _useless_ _boy_!"

"Wha—"

"He is a _bounty hunter,_ _Gwendolyn_! Did you honestly not know!?" He lost me, stunned and confused, I rocked back on my heels, trying to understand. After several seconds of silence, I ventured a quiet question.

"Who is?" He whirled away from me, swinging his fists into the air, giving a biting laugh.

"Your _dear_ Monsieur Graham Scott."

"No, you're wrong—" I couldn't imagine sweet, harmless Graham being the enemy.

"I am not!"

"How do you—"

"He _bragged_ of it! Like an ignorant child! At the gala, while you were off _batting your eyelashes at_ _Raoul de Chagny!_" He spun on his heel again, facing me, his expression a wrathful sneer. "I _heard_ you, Gwendolyn. Last night. While he _escorted_ you to your room. I had hoped that I had misheard, misunderstood. Now I see you care nothing for me, only your own personal gain." I _had_ spoke of him, only rumors, common knowledge amongst the performers, nothing specific. But to Erik, that must have been an unforgivable breach of trust, fearing that common knowledge wasn't the only thing I said to people. My anger was long passed, now only despair as he began to walk away from me.

"Erik, please, I didn't—" He paused, now several feet away, glancing over his shoulder at me with cold, hard eyes.

"No, Gwendolyn. You are just like all of the others." He had dealt the cruelest blow of all. He was disappointed in me. _He thinks…he thinks I'm like them, like _her_…_No

"Erik, wait! Please, stop!" He continued unwaveringly, his cloak buffeted in the wind.

"Erik! Fauvre has the mirror! He offered it to me in exchange for you!" I exclaimed, desperately. At that, he stopped, frozen. Suddenly whirling, he closed the distance between us with startling speed, stopping only inches from me. For the first time, I saw a hint of danger in his eyes, definite threat.

"_No doubt you took his offer!_ And _why_," He grit at me through gnashed teeth. "Would you tell _me_ of such a plan? To crush what shell of a heart I have left?!" Horrified, I felt tears begin to leak out of the corners of my eyes. "_Stop your sniveling!_" He bellowed into my face. At that, my emotions hardened into anger, no longer despairing. My desperation suddenly grew cold as well, rethinking my initial decision.

"No," I hissed back, unable to stop the flow of now rage-drawn tears. "I'm telling you because I wanted to let you _know_ that I was going to tell him _no_. Though now I'm not too sure." He blinked a few times, but continued his furious questioning.

"_Oh_? And why would you do _that_? You have _everything_ to lose without that mirror," He snarled.

"_I know that!_ _Of course_ I know that! I wasn't going to do it because I—" I cut off, my gaze shifting downward, now not wanting to continue.

"_Well_?" He prompted, sneering. Shaking with fury, my eyes darted back to his.

"Because I _care_ for you, you stupid, _stupid_ man!" I turned my back to him, storming several feet away. "So goddamned much! Ugh! _God_!" Fuming, I stomped towards him again to scream in his face. "_Did you actually think I would do that!_ How could you be so _stupid, Erik! Dammit_!" His face was now one of pure shock, struck dumb.

"I—you—you _care_…for me?" He managed, choking over the words. It was my turn to sneer.

"Yes, of course I do. You're so stupid." I snapped, softening slightly.

"For _me_?" He repeated, the first question seemingly not making sense to him.

"For _you_! Idiot!" I was enjoying calling him names at least, my anger subsiding a little more.

"_What_?" Despite the repetition, the concept still seemed confusing to him. Grunting an irritated sigh, I reached up to grab the back of his head, yanking him down to press his lips against my own in a forceful kiss. He balked, tearing himself away.

"Gwendolyn—I—I do not understand!" He seemed suddenly so scared and bewildered, I actually laughed. More gently than before, I wrapped my arms around his neck, brushing my fingers lightly through his hair. Raising myself up, I placed a hesitant kiss to his lips, heard his sharp inhale of breath through his nose. Trying not to laugh and break the kiss, I was astonished when he abruptly crushed me against him, deepening the kiss. When it broke, both our chests were heaving in order to catch our breath, he leaned down resting his forehead against my own, staring into my eyes. Even as close as he was, I could see the tears in his eyes that he was too proud to shed, and squeezed him tighter. _No one has ever done that to him willingly, please, _please_ let him _want_ this, _understand_ this…and let it be for _me_, and not just for the need for affection... _Loneliness defined him and his life, and I fervently hoped that he accepted the kiss because he cared about me as well, not just because he wanted to experience physical affection.

"Gwendolyn, I am—I am sorry for what I said—" I cut him off with an enthusiastic kiss, delighting in the apology. It was more than words, it was him dropping the walls, allowing himself to be vulnerable. To admit he was wrong. That comforted me somewhat, it meant that he _cared_. I gave him a brilliant smile, compiled of relief and excitement. He actually returned it, almost as rare as an apology. That caused me to laugh a little, with my thumb I wiped away tears that he had startlingly allowed fall.

"Me too." He must have been holding his breath, because tightening his hold around my waist, he let out an enormous sigh, ducking his head down against my neck, running his fingers through my hair delicately.

"Gwen. Gwen, listen to me. You cannot give up the mirror." The mood shifted, I was no longer simply happy and relieved. I sharply pulled away, eyes wide.

"Erik! He wants to trade it to me for _you_! I _can't_ do that! What are you talking about!" Staring into my eyes, a slow, deadly smile colored his lips.

"If the Inspector wants the Phantom of the Opera, he shall have him."


	39. Really Was The Phantom

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

39

"Really Was the Phantom…"

"What are you talking about? You're just going to give in?!" I cried, shrilly. The dangerous smile on his lips faded slightly as he glanced down at my horrified expression. Firmly grasping my shoulders, his face became more serious.

"Calm yourself. I have an idea." I refused to oblige him, scowling up at him instead.

"If it involves you handing yourself over to Fauvre, I don't like it, and I'm not doing it." Sighing, slightly exasperated with my unwillingness to listen, he once again rested his forehead against mine, fingering with the tendrils of hair that brushed my neck.

"I am not going to hand myself over to him, Gwendolyn. You are." He muttered.

"_What_!" I ripped away from him, disbelieving. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself hanged, Erik!?" His reserved manner vanished, he glared at me with irritation, as if our moment of tenderness never happened.

"Of course not! I no longer openly embrace death, Gwendolyn! You must trust me!" My spark of indignation lessened, I begrudgingly gave him a sharp nod to indicate that I would at least listen.

"Fine. What's your plan?" He closed the two foot gap that I had created in my protests, taking my face gently in his hands.

"We cannot speak of it here. Though remote, the rooftop is open to all. For all we know, we might not be alone."

"You think someone's up here?"

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

"Everywhere's open to the public, Erik. There isn't a place in the Opera Populaire that isn't…except maybe the managers' office." He stepped away from me, but stretched out his hand, waiting.

"Not a place _in_ the Opera Populaire, no, but under it…?" Surprised not only because he suggested it, but because I didn't think of it, I took his outstretched hand, suddenly excited. _He's taking me to his lair! That's so creepy-cool!_ It was a long trek from the rooftop, especially with Erik's occasional pauses to see if the coast was clear. He led me to the stage hall, through the back doors to the backroom. I shuddered slightly when we entered, the last time I had been in the room was when Fauvre had offered me my life for Erik's. I was almost startled when Erik squeezed my hand, as if he sensed my discomfort. I flashed him a small smile out of thanks, he was getting better at being comforting. Pushing back some scenery props, rose bushes and a "stone" wall, he revealed a large, dusty crate. My eyes darted back between Erik and the crate, it appeared to be nothing but a dusty, old prop. He reached around an edge of it though, feeling for something. With a flick of his wrist, he hit a catch and a side of the crate fell inward, revealing that it was actually empty and bottomless. He pulled me inside, it was absolutely pitch. Though I couldn't see it, I heard him replace the side of the crate, still gripping my hand for reassurance. I heard some scuffling, and his hand lowered, dropping down to the floor, and then let go. _There must be a tunnel or something…_

"Gwendolyn," His muted call echoed a little, confirming my theory. "Step forward, there will be a drop. But do not worry, I will catch you." _Great. Why the hell did we take this entrance? Isn't there one that doesn't include a drop in the dark? _

"If I die doing this, I'm going to come back to haunt you, Erik." I grumbled threateningly, shuffling forward. I felt the edge with my toe, and sat down on the edge of the opening, cursing the darkness and Erik all in one stream of foul language. I heard echoed chuckling, and pushed myself forward, falling. I grunted, landing in his arms roughly. He gently put me down, arms lingering around my waist.

"It is a very good thing you did not die. I hardly believe that the Opera Populaire will need another Phantom haunting it." I actually heard humor in his voice and laughed a little. "You will not be able to see, but rest assured that I can. You must trust me, and must not be afraid." I chuckled nervously as we proceeded, my feet gliding across wet stone cobbles.

"Ok, just don't push me into the lake or anything…" I returned cheerily, hoping to make a joke to quell my nerves. He snorted into the darkness, but kept one hand around my arm and the other on the small of my back. We began to descend, I shivered, the air was frosty, and the moisture hanging in it only made the cold more biting. He removed his arms, I opened my mouth to protest when a thick cloth was whipped around me, he pulled me against him within it, rubbing the outside of his cloak to warm me.

"Forgive me, I should have warned you about the cold."

"It's fine," I replied through now chattering teeth. We continued our downward slope for what felt like ages, considering how quickly he popped up and around the opera house, I figured he was going slowly because of me. I wondered vaguely what time it was, it must have been midnight by now or later. Abruptly, he paused, holding me back. Stepping away from me, suddenly a small light shattered the darkness, throwing shadows on the damp, dim walls around us. He had lit a lantern hanging from a thin boat that bobbed in a lake that lapped before us, I couldn't tell the vastness of it as the light was so small. Climbing into the boat, he offered me his arm. I took it, seating myself, and, after taking off his cloak and draping it across my shoulders, he began to push the boat across the water with a long poll. The water must have been frigid, but not as cool as the air above, mist rose and hung in heavy sheets. The whole thing was exhilarating and dreamlike, romantic and fantastical. Curling up under the cloak, I was content to just watch him steer the gondola.

He didn't seem to fit, I decided, the man was well dressed and clean, wearing a black evening suit with his hair slicked back. With his back to me, it almost felt like he belonged on a sidewalk on Wall Street, not in a boat on a lake underneath an opera house. A wave of silly adoration washed over me, I shook my head, ducking my face into the cloak. The lantern wasn't much, but illuminated the stone ceiling and walls of the labyrinth through which we traveled, its light finally giving way to brighter lights ahead. He slowed the boat, reached out towards and wall and jerking a handle. A grating chugging sounded as he began to push us forward again, and as we drew nearer, I was awed to see a portcullis raising. We passed beneath it, and it began to lower again. We were floating towards a bay of sorts, the lake shallowed into his "home".

Illuminated by hundreds of candles, perched on candelabras and shelves of rock, the Phantom's infamous lair was revealed. I gaped at it, feeling a chill from more than just the cold, but the impact of the very truth of it, of him. _He really is…was…the Phantom of the Opera. This is incredible…and insane._ A massive organ sat, its pipes pressed into the stone of the cavern walls, more candles squatting on it, dribbling wax down the grand oak finish. Piles of paper, sheet music I assumed, littered the lair, along with scattered quills and jars of ink. Before the organ was a cushioned bench, a few feet across was a musty, but comfortable looking couch, layered with pillows. _Does he sleep there?_ I wondered vaguely. The boat scraped at the rock below, and he leapt out of it, sloshing into knee-deep water. If it was a freezing as I assumed, he made no notice of it, turning to help me out of the gondola. But instead of simply offering me his hand, he swept his arms beneath me, lifting out of that boat and carrying me to dry rock. I couldn't help a stupid giggle, as he put me down, the whole situation seemed so far removed from reality. Still clutching my hand, he dipped into a low bow, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Despite how charming the gesture was, it was surprisingly bumpy, awkward. Erik was infinitely graceful normally, most likely a learned habit so he could creep soundlessly throughout the theater. Now, though, the grace had all but vanished, leaving him abrupt and almost clumsy. _What's with him? What is he suddenly so nervous about_?

"Welcome to my home. Come."


	40. The Course of True Love

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

40

"The Course of True Love…"

He led me to the couch, but did not join me, pacing behind me, his visage broken by the candles surrounding it as he passed by them. I suddenly felt awkward as well, like I was intruding on something that was never for me to see. It had been his suggestion, and had been an attentive host so far, but his body language was far from comfortable, I wondered if it had been a good idea to come. I tried to reassure myself. _This is his private space, of course I feel weird here. Especially since the last person that was here besides Erik was Christine._ _And she left him. Maybe he thinks I'll do the same, and is afraid to "scare me off"?_ If that was the case, he was taking an enormous leap in faith in showing me his lair. This was his most private self, the place he had hidden himself away for nearly half of his life. He had opened up to me before, but this felt so raw and exposed, uncomfortably so. I was touched, honestly, but wasn't sure how to act.

I gazed around the caverns, feeling the weight of his eyes on me always, and trying to ignore it. The silence that hung in the air was practically deafening, and though the cavern chamber was massive, so that every word spoken echoed, I felt a little like it was closing in on me. It felt a little bit like he was waiting for a reaction, carefully wading in unsure waters of tense possibility. I finally forced my eyes to meet his, inwardly melting as I saw the almost child-like hope and fear that lay within them. I held his gaze steadily, determined not to give even a hint of a wavering in my opinion or caring for him. _If he thinks I pity him, he'll never trust me again._ After several dragging seconds, he broke the eye contact, bending downward suddenly. I stretched up in my seat, moderately confused, and hoping that I passed his test.

"Erik?" He straightened, only holding aloft what appeared to be a bottle of wine. Slightly relieved, I broke in a smile, my nose wrinkling a little as I squinted at the label, curious.

"You have food and stuff here?" It was a stupid question, the answer was obvious, but curiosity and the need to break the tension caused it to blurt out of my mouth anyway. I half expected a sarcastic answer, my friends back home would have probably responded with something similar to "No, it's empty, but I keep it for decoration to show off for my guests…". Erik, though, didn't see the humor in it, gravely answering the question from behind the broken wall of candles.

"Of course. Generally it is pilfered from the kitchens above, but our dear managers' fineries have occasionally gone missing…" He rounded the couch to approach me, to allow me to see the bottle in an offering. With a bland smile, I shook my head, now was not the time I should be drinking. _The last thing I need is to deal with Fauvre with a hangover._ He accepted it, setting the bottle aside. He dropped onto the other end of the couch, eyes resting on my face again, searching. I didn't know what else to say, trying not to squirm in the focus of his gaze. It was almost like what had happened on the roof perhaps a little over an hour ago had never happened, an odd dreamed wrapped up in the current reality that seemed like an even stranger dream. My thoughts had danced away from the root cause of me being here, I pushed them back towards Fauvre. A question formed on my lips, to ask him what his genius plan was, but it died away as he blurted out one of his own.

"Would you like to hear something? Some music…?" Gladly forgetting about the unpleasantness that was Fauvre, I nodded enthusiastically. He sprung up fluidly, though his expression remained reserved, obvious excitement made him less uneasy. I gave his retreating back a vague smile, hoping that this would let up the tension a little bit. _He might be "socially challenged", but one thing he'll always do well is play…_My gaze followed him as he sprited off to the far wall, up a shelf with stairs cut into it, leading to doors that hid more branches of the caverns. He popped into one of the rooms, and then returned, clutching a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. My eyes lingering on the doors, curiosity probed into asking another question.

"What do those lead to?" I knew I was being nosy, but he didn't seem to mind, beginning to tune the violin.

"A storeroom, a guest room, a study, and…my bedroom." The last one was said with less ease than the others, and while he had been glancing up at me, his eyes darted away. The question, though perhaps making him feel more uneasy, made me feel a little bit better. He scowled at the violin, but I guessed that he was embarrassed more of himself than angry at the instrument's reluctance to find pitch. _Silly man. It's kind of cute, really_.

The violin tuned, he began to play, softly, coaxing it into crooning an entrancing, if haunting, melody. It was already captivatingly beautiful, but then he began to hum, to my surprise a harmony of the tune he was playing on the instrument. The tempo sped up, the melody became deeper, almost angrier, and he began to sing the melody while playing a harmony. As the song climaxed, he alternated harmony and melody several more times, breaking into a scalding pace, and then winding down again. When the last note, harmonized by his stellar voice echoed through the cavern, I relaxed, realizing that I had been unconsciously digging my fingers into my legs. He lowered the violin, and I shook out my painful hands, embarrassed that, being so swept up in the pain and anger in the piece, I had inadvertently hurt myself. My eyes were watering, but not because of the unexpected pain in my hands. The piece had been blindingly beautiful, but excruciating as well, and I was unsure how to react. Knowing that it wasn't really appropriate, I clapped, attempting to form words more suited to the piece.

"Erik…that was absolutely stunning…" _"If music be the food of love, play on…"_ The quote popped into my head, but I held it in. The clouded green eyes stared into me, bleeding the same pain that had been in the song. Then he abruptly nodded, seeming suddenly exhausted. He slumped in his stance, striding over the organ to set down the violin and bow. But instead of returning, he hunched over the organ's keyboard, the soft, flickering candlelight exaggerated his trembling. I worried, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. His immediate action was to flinch away, hissing. Startled and hurt, I withdrew it.

"Forgive me…I…" He swung his eyes up to meet mine, but they only did so reluctantly. "I…care…for you as well, Gwendolyn…But—but how—_how_ can you feel for me? What I am…you cannot know. The things I have done, the pain I am in…" Just by hearing the song, I could appreciate, if perhaps not fully, the pain he was in. The suffering he constantly lived with. I replaced my hand, turning him to face me.

"No, I can't possibly know what that's like. And, please believe me when I say this, I would give anything, Erik, _anything_, even the mirror, to take that pain away from you. But, the best I can offer is to help in any way I can. I _want_ to. But you have to _let_ me." He gripped my shoulders tightly, eyes boring into my own, as if he were trying to determine if my offer was sincere.

"_Why_?"

"That's what people do when they care. They try to help." He broke away from me, lurching back to the organ. I wanted to reach out and squeeze his pain away, drain it out of him like a sponge swollen with water. But I couldn't be sure if that's what he wanted, he merely stood, hunched over the organ, shaking slightly. "Please, Erik…" Without his permission, I didn't want to approach, afraid that he just wouldn't understand, maybe even reject me. _He can't believe that someone might actually care about him…how I hate Christine…_I couldn't think of anything else to do for him, so I waited. My mind burned through several long strings of curses at the woman, I was only pulled out of my reverie when Erik abruptly stood, squaring his shoulders. When he turned to face me, there was nothing left of the emotion I had seen so plainly in his face before, it was cold, hard, and entirely unreadable. I shoved away twinges of panic that he was once again shutting me out and making distance, and forced a smile at him. He analyzed it as if it were some sort of interesting specimen, and then strode past me. _What just happened? What is he _thinking!

Now pacing, he began to unravel the intimacies of his plan for Fauvre. The fact that he was changing the subject wasn't lost on me, he was trying to push his "moment of weakness" away. The man who had been in front of me several minutes before, utterly broken and helpless, was the one I found myself falling for, the dark, cold man that now paced behind me was one I was beginning to hate_. He's shutting me out! _Gritting my teeth, I put all my effort into listening rather than seething, knowing the information to be vital. _He's crazy, this will never work…But what choice do I have? There's no time, we can't think of a better plan._ _I have to work tomorrow…and deal with Fauvre_.

"I still don't like it, Erik. You're still _giving_ yourself to him, and then you expect me to just _leave_ you? I won't do it." I crossed my arms over my chest, he swiveled to fix me with a stern glare.

"Must you argue with everything I say? Why do you always have to be so difficult? You exhaust me!" He snapped, exasperated.

"I'm not difficult, I'm honest! It's too dangerous, what if something went wrong? What if you're caught?" He sneered at my, waving a vague hand in my direction.

"You do me injustice in severely underestimating my skill. I know this opera house better than any other soul alive. I am taking little risk." His reassurances were hardly good enough, I was afraid for him. Worse than that, though, I was afraid that he was creating distance so our parting would not be as painful. I wasn't proud or confident enough to think that he truly felt for me as I did for him, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still in love with Christine, despite what he had said before. I was sure, though, that he at least welcomed my company, something he had never had before, and had realized that it would be painful to lose the companionship. His manner, though, grew more sullen as the seconds past, his already short temper becoming more vicious. _He's making himself lose interest, he's making himself! _As I stood there, my breathing became more shallow with the realization. Yet again, another who I had come to trust entirely was leaving me, bored with me, discarding me. My head began to ache horribly, I felt physically nauseous. I remembered the feeling all too well, I had felt like this for weeks, months even, after Josh and I split._ No. I won't let me to this to myself again. I have to be better, stronger. I am. I'm not the same person I was, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let this happen. _Rationally, I knew that it would be easier for us to part hating each other rather than caring, but, though the moment I would be returning was only few days away, I wasn't ready for it. Straightening to my full height, I met his severe gaze, refusing to allow myself to be sick or weak.

"Fine. If you're _sure_ you want to do this. For the record though, I hate it, you're risking yourself too much, and I will kill you if you get yourself killed because of me." He snorted loudly at that, rolling his eyes. Even so, though, I thought I saw something behind them, just for a second.

"Threaten me if you so choose, Gwendolyn. You know this is the only way. You will get your mirror, and you will return home. Do not concern yourself for my welfare." It was my turn to snort, angry.

"I will whether you want me to or not." I snarked back at him. He scowled, turning away from me and dropping into the couch across from the organ. I meant to continue to berate him, but a yawn came out instead of another lecture. Exhaustion suddenly weighed at me, and I wasn't looking forward to the journey back.

"Ugh, what time is it?" He glanced around, I followed his gaze, seeing a large grandfather clock resting against a far wall. "It is five past three." I groaned out a curse, arching my back and raking at my hair. I tried to mentally pump myself up for the trek.

"Well, I hate to cut the fun short, but I have to go back, I got a full day's work tomorrow." His eyes widened slightly, darting around the caverns.

"Yes, I had forgotten…forgive me." He wrestled himself out of the couch, he seemed just as exhausted as me. _Fights will do that, especially ours. I care about him, but he's just so frustrating! Gah! Calm down..."the course of true love never did run smooth"…Though I very much doubt that it's true love right now. He's driving me crazy. _He stretched, considering.

"The journey back will take longer as we would use a different path. It takes me hardly any time, but with you slowing me down…" He thought aloud. I grimaced at him, but he paid no notice. "…You are clearly exhausted Gwendolyn. That will only impede us further…" I felt snappy, his bad mood had effectively rubbed off on me, and I was too tired to fight it.

"Then what are you suggesting? I stay here tonight?" He stiffened at that, he clearly hadn't thought of that at all.

"No…" The idea appeared to irk him, and maliciously curious, I pressed for it.

"It would certainly be easier for you, both of us, to make the trip when we're fresh. I could just sleep on the couch—" With a slice of his hand, he cut me off.

"No. You will sleep in my room."


	41. You Will See

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

41

"You Will See"

I balked at the idea, not that I was particularly against it, but the fact the he suggested it blew my mind. But then, even in the dim light, I could see his profuse blush, he shook his head violently. "That is not what I meant." I laughed, his scowl deepened, and his eyes remained on the floor. "You will sleep in my room, I shall sleep out here."

"I thought you said you had a guest room…" He turned on heel towards the rooms.

"It is in no condition for guests. Come." _We're back to "come". Great. _He lead me up the stairs, I followed, pausing in front of the "guest room", inquisitive.

"Why did you say the guest room isn't alright?" He said nothing, but answered my question, pushing in the door. It revealed what was once must have been a rather nice room that was now completely destroyed. The furniture was in splinters, shattered pieces, strewn across the room. The bed drapings were ripped, the room's decorations, books, candlesticks, pillows, smashed and shredded. Staring, stunned, into the room, I made several attempts to ask about it before the words came out.

"What—what happened here?" Turning shocked eyes on him, thinking it was some horrible disaster, but his face darkened, leading me to believe he had something to do with it.

"The room offended. I do not—did not—expect any guests." He strode off, not wanting to linger in front of the disheveled room. I nodded, briskly, wondering what he meant. _This must have been Christine's room…I suppose he destroyed it after she left. By his attitude, I guess it still offends. He must still love her... _He paused in front of the next door, pushing it in.

"You will stay here tonight." I stepped inside and he followed. The furniture in here had been fixed, I could see that it had undergone the same abuse as the other rooms, but had been masterfully reconstructed. I wasn't surprised to find that all of the bedding was black, nor that the room, like the rest of his lair, was home to various piles of paper. A few half-melted candles were the only things lighting the room, casting warped shadows on the rough walls. He cleared his throat, muttering a goodnight before quitting the room, closing the door behind him. I stepped into it, the cold stone floors carpeted by what looked like a fine Persian rug. I lifted a few pieces of paper. _Half-finished compositions, notes on potential pieces…_

My hand paused as I lifted the next sheet, it was a sketch of a violin, and an extremely good one. Smiling gently, I lifted the next sheet to find another sketch, the organ. Lifting the pieces more rapidly, eager to see what else he had done, the instruments shifted into people, dancers, singers, instrumentalists. Grinning broadly, I lifted the next, the remaining pile dwindling. I snapped my mouth closed before I could yelp in surprise, the next was a detailed sketch of people I recognized, Kathryn, Nathaniel, and myself. Fascinated, I analyzed each of us, he had captured much more than a scene of us, he had drawn our very personalities. We appeared to be laughing, pausing in our work on the stage, with several performers lounging in the background.

Almost reluctantly putting it aside, I was even more stunned to see that the next one was myself, many different sketches of myself from different angles, with different expressions. A blush crept up my neck to color my cheeks, I suddenly felt like I was invading on something extremely personal. It was still incredibly pleasing though, I hoped that it might mean something. Putting that one aside as well, I picked up the last in the pile, a full portrait of myself. Touched, I took it closer to the light to fully appreciate the detail. My expression was fairly bland, only eyes revealing vague interest. I was looking up, as if answering someone's call. The sketch must have taken hours, and I wondered when he had done it. I fought back a stupid, giddy smile, chiding myself that it didn't mean anything. But it was filled with so much intimate detail, so much effort, that I couldn't help feeling flattered and extremely happy. I carefully replaced the pile exactly as it was, glancing at the door, pondering on the man outside of it. My hopes, foolishly, had been raised upon seeing the sketch. _Maybe he does care, maybe he's not in love with her still. _There would still be no chance, it was impossible, for us to be together, but it was all too easy to overlook that problem. The only barriers, it seemed to me, were his emotions, especially those for Christine.

Leaving the sketches on the table, I crawled into his bed, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't get to sleep, my mind glued to the sketches. _They probably don't mean anything…he kissed me back, but it really might have just been because he wanted contact. Those sketches though, he's been watching me, I knew fairly often, but enough to draw me? Why would he do that, if he didn't care about me? True, he didn't--doesn't--really care about a lot of the other people he drew, and I know he hates Nat._ After several minutes, I realized I was obsessing. I desperately wanted to ask him about it, itching to know what he thought about me, even just for a hint. _He must be asleep by now, he looked so tired…He'd probably be even more pissed if I woke him._ So I lay for another twenty minutes in darkness, having blown out the few candles illuminating the room.

Rolling over as I tossed, I froze, a tendril of music pressing through the walls from the caverns beyond. After a few moments of shallow breathing so I could hear, I identified it as a violin. _He's awake!_ Slipping out of bed, I pattered across the room in my bare feet, carefully opening the door. Many of the candles were out, he was standing between the organ and the couch, the violin tucked under his chin, his back to me. I tentatively approached him, swinging around into his field of vision. He jerkily stopped, lowering the bow.

"Gwendolyn, did I wake you?" I shook my head, trying to relieve his abrupt concern.

"No, I was already awake…I heard you playing." He nodded, about to put it down. "No, don't stop, please, continue." I plead, seating myself on the couch, he almost reluctantly lifted the violin to his chin again, beginning to play. The tune was soft, airy and delicate, gradually building power. The song peaked into a brilliant high note, calmly decrescendoing, the tempo retarding into the final measures. He finished, the final chord hanging in the air, echoing through the caverns. I was held breathless, motionless, as the last notes dyed away, he turned with an eyebrow raised, waiting for my thoughts. It took me a moment to catch my breath, I had been holding it as much as possible throughout the piece.

"Erik…that was…amazing. Absolutely…I—I can't even think of words." He set the violin down on the organ bench, seating himself beside me on the couch. He lounged, covering his face again with his hands. _He's tired…I should leave…_But I lingered, uneasily clearing my throat. I wanted to ask about the pictures, about the song, and, though I thought I already knew, why he was suddenly so uncomfortable and distant with me. I was afraid of what he would say though, so I tried to think of some other, safer, subject for conversation. He beat me to words.

"You should return to bed, Gwendolyn. There are few hours left before we must return." His voice was gruff, and utterly indifferent. Something in me snapped. In my other life, I would have never lost my cool, would have just taken it, but I didn't care about offending him. He seemed ready to be rid of me, was doing everything in his power to push me in that direction, so trying to be inoffensive and passive was in the past.

"Why are you doing this!" Startled by my outburst, he glanced up at me with widened eyes.

"What are you shrieking about?" That only pushed me further.

"This! To me! Why!" I wildly gesticulated, waving a hand in between us. His upper lip curled slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I am doing nothing to you,"

"Yes you are!" I returned poking him firmly in the chest. He seized my hand, crushing it in his. I refused to flinch, continuing to stare at him. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't pretend that you don't." I hissed at him, he grit his teeth at me, knowing that he couldn't deny his strange behavior towards me. He said nothing, his eyes now swimming in emotion, predominantly anger. I softened, despairing. "Why are you treating me like this? I only said that I care about you—and you—you…you're pushing me away. Please…" He released my hand forcefully, flushing in the low light with anger.

"What do you expect of me? This night has only enforced the fact that you are indeed leaving. You are leaving me, just as _everyone_ in my life does. I will be alone again." His words were soft, but he shook with the passion in them. My mind worked over that, I didn't know exactly what to say; he was right.

"Erik…I don't _want_ to leave, this isn't a _choice_ for me. I don't belong here. _Everything_ for me is there." He turned away completely, his back to me.

"…And what of _me_? _I_ am here." His words were barely a whisper, soft, but far more painful than anything else he could have said. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he once again jerked away, not wanting to be touched, even by me. Tears filled my eyes, I didn't know if they were from anger or sorrow.

"So that's _it_? You've decided that you're just going to start forgetting me _now_?" He was silent for a moment, I wished he could turn around so I could see his face. Or yell in it.

"The sooner I do, the easier it will be." _He's taking the easy way out. _

"Many unflattering characteristics you possess, Erik, but I didn't think cowardice was one of them." I snarled at him, referencing the cutting words he had said to me at the gala. He whipped around, enraged. _At least now I'll get a fight! I at least deserve that._

"You dare—you _dare_ suggest that I am a coward!?"

"You're running _away_! You won't even tell me what you _feel_! You're just _leaving_ me before I'm even gone!"

"Foolish, waspish, _hateful_ woman! You claim to _care_ for me, that you would help ease my pain, yet you _abandon_ me! You know _nothing_ of what I have lived through, what I have _survived_! Love is _not_ an emotion I wish to experience again! It is a twisted, warped thing that brings out the _worst_ in mankind, makes demons of us all! I will _not_ allow myself to be weak again!"

"You think it's warped and twisted and a weakness?! You really _are_ crazy! I might not know what pain you 'have survived', Erik, but I have to live with _you_ everyday, so be sure that I know pain!" I shouted right back. "I _meant_ it when I said I cared, but I can't _stay_ here! You talk about it _all the time,_ I stick out like a sore thumb, and I _know_ Fauvre will throw me in prison the minute you're 'caught'! _You_ might be able to hide for the rest of your life, Erik, _but I can't_!" I was screaming at the top of my lungs at him now, unable to control myself. I didn't want to give him up, but I sure as hell didn't want him to give up on me, not while we still had time. He winced back at every word, but wasn't hindered by them, shouting right back.

"What do you _want_ from me, Gwendolyn! To show you—_affection_—and then simply…_carry on _when you leave? I cannot _pretend_ that you will be here with me when you will _not be_!"

"I don't want you to walk around and act all happy when you're _not_, I just want…" I paused, I had been so intent on screaming at him that I didn't even realize what I wanted. _What do I want?...I want him_. He had been furiously glaring at me while I floundered, I hesitantly raised my eyes to meet his, flinching back under his gaze. "I—I just want you," The words were weak, I could barely get them out. He recoiled, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

"You know not what you say. If you knew—if you saw—" Once again, it all came back to his mask.

"Erik—"

"No. You will see."


	42. Alone Again

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

42

"Alone Again…"

It was all I could do not to choke out a gasp at his words. _He's going to show me his face!_

His hand reluctantly raised to his face, I was now more nervous that I had ever been before. A thousand thoughts ran through my head, what if it wasn't bad at all, it was the last boundary between us, if I accepted him, could he care for me then? But what if it was that bad, and what if he was right, could I still want him? His fingers slipped under the edge, pulling away. The mask lifted away, he hesitated, I saw his hand tremble, watched as his eyes closed, tears lining them. And then the mask was off, revealing the deformation.

That side of his face was furthest from the soft candle light, but the light seemed to only emphasize the distortion of it, shadows rippling across it strangely. In a complete contradiction to the other side of his face, the bone structure of the deformed side was warped, twisted, the cheekbone was too high as well as having ridges and grooves. The skin was stretched thinly over it, and pulled away from the eye, giving him the appearance of having no lower eyelid. Because of the unnaturally high cheekbone, the rest of the cheek was sunken in, and the skin over it had great ruts and grooves. The texture of the skin overall was either too thin and showed all of the veins, or had thick, warped ridges, and the entirety of it was discolored. Finally, across the whole side, little scratches and scars were present, some the precise size of fingernails.

It was bad, very bad. But then he opened his eyes, the same cloudy green that they had always been, congested with emotion, tears now streaming down his cheeks. I had been holding my breath, staring, but let it out in an almost exaggerated release_. It's still Erik, nothing's changed._ A nervous laugh burst from my lips out of relief, his eyes widened, confused, and I lurched forward, throwing my arms around his neck, still laughing. His entire frame was held motionless, rigid, and I knew he must not understand my reaction. I buried my face into his neck, squeezing him more tightly. Then, after several seconds, I leaned backwards, still clutching at his arms. His face was contorted with shock, confusion, disbelief, tears still flowing. I reached up hesitantly to wipe the tears from his face, even on the deformed side. He squeezed his eyes closed again at the touch, gasping breakingly.

"_Gwendolyn_—" He hissed, I cut him off, resting my forehead against his.

"_It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, Erik. It just doesn't matter._" He started shaking his head, placing his hands on my shoulders and pushing me slowly away.

"How—_how_ can it _not matter? How_!?"

"_Please_, Erik! It _doesn't matter, please believe me_!" He didn't answer, only continuing to shake his head, standing, crossing his arms over his chest. The mask remained on the couch beside me, but he turned his back on me. _I accepted him and it didn't make a difference. He's still shutting me out. _

"Go to bed, Gwendolyn. We will return in an hour."

"Erik!" I was screaming again, tears now streaming down _my_ cheeks.

"You speak of _impossible_ things! I want this more than you could _ever_ know, I have longed for this my _entire_ life! You offer me what I never believed—_even dreamed—_that I could ever have, and yet, I _cannot_ accept it!" I covered my face with my hands, he had admitted that he wanted me, only to reject me further. It might have hurt less if he simply didn't want me, but the fact that he did…Falling back onto the couch, I groaned from within my hands, my tears becoming wracking sobs. He heard them, spinning on heel towards me, gripping my shoulders in each hand.

I kept my eyes closed, I couldn't look at him, and not because he still wasn't wearing the mask. "Gwendolyn! _Gwen_. After Christine…I believed myself to never be able to care for anyone again! I wanted only to be left alone for the rest of my miserable days. But I find myself instead caring about the lives of _all_ that dwell here, and…not being able to go a _moment_ without thinking of you! I was nearly—_destroyed_—after she left, I still do not fully understand how I was able, _am_ able, to recover… I could not—" He cut off, his beautiful voice breaking, and then tried again, barely a whisper now. "Could not survive again if I allow myself to…"

His hands left my shoulders, he dropped to his knees before me, grasping at my hands. "You are _leaving_! You mean to go back to your life, I cannot allow myself to care for you, knowing that once you leave, I will fall apart. You have a _life_, Gwendolyn, friends, family, I cannot drag you down with me into this hell…" His voice strangled, cracking, as he tried not to lose control of himself_. That's it then. It's over. He cares, but won't act on it._ Logically, I understood. Emotionally, though, I was crushed, now knowing that there absolutely positively wasn't any chance. I nodded blankly, wiping the tears away with the backs of my hands, afraid that if I opened my mouth, a sob would croak out again.

He gripped my hands harder, when he spoke again, his voice desperate. "_Please_, understand. I _cannot_…" _It's not fair…_Logically again, I knew he was right, I was leaving. There wasn't any hope. But I was deeply hurt anyway, not wanting to accept logic. I stood, yanking my hands out of his grasp. Walking numbly away, my tears temporaraily stemmed, I cursed my stupidity, my idiotic, irrational high hopes that had once again been let down. I retreated to his room, closing the door, crawling once again into bed. Once my head hit the pillow, though, I couldn't hold in the defeat any longer, formally dried tears beginning to leak out of my eyes once again. Quiet, gasping sobs evolved, and after what felt like hours, days, I cried myself to sleep.

o o o o o

He watched her stiffly withdraw, with every step his anguish increased. _I did that to her, I hurt her! She is in pain because of me! Because I am selfish, weak. Because I am so involved in myself, I cannot even accept that she could care for me. It is all I ever wanted, with her, beautiful Gwen, and I deny her, refuse her! I did not want to hurt her…_She closed the door, blocking him out. He drooped, gripping at his head, his hair, as the pain built, the realization that the one he cared about had left yet again. _But not because she wanted to…because _I_ forced her to! I am a _foolidiotstupidbastard--Why_ did I have to drive her away, she will never look at me again, she will be grateful to escape me! They all are, somehow! Somehow they all end up hating me, _cursing_ me! _And I am alone again. Self-loathing surged through his veins, he slapped out, knocking a candelabrum that rested beside the couch to the floor, the candles tumbling away and whisking out. Scrambling to his feet, he agilely tripped to her door, listening. He ears caught snuffling. _She has even seen my face, and did not flee, continuing to want to be with me, I never thought that to be possible, never, never. Somehow, she is not frightened, does not want to leave me_…_Gwendolyn…She is _crying_! I made her _cry! He groaned, dragging himself away to the couch, no longer able to hold himself upright. _This is my fault…she _hates_ me, the one person who accepts me for what I truly am…What have I done? _

_- - -_

He was unable to sleep for the hour remaining, wallowing in pain, and hate for himself. He had just started to begin to heal, to think that there was a possibility that he wasn't a monster, a beast. At five thirty in the morning, he could no longer stand to be alone with himself, silently striding up to his bedroom. Soundlessly, he pushed open the door, his footfalls softened by the carpet as he crept in. The door let in practically no light, but he didn't need it, bending over Gwendolyn's sleeping form.

She had stopped crying, apparently drifting off into a relief-giving slumber. He brushed his hand across the pillow, it was still damp, and careful not to wake her, then ran his fingers through her hair, bending closer to inhale her scent. She smelt of the vanilla soap the laborers used, but stronger, she more than likely bathed more often. He squeezed his eyes closed against another wave of hurt, knowledge that he would soon never breathe her scent again, only be reminded by the soiled smells of the other laborers, the pureness of the vanilla diluted by dirt and sweat. Tenderly letting his fingers run along her cheek, he pressed a soft kiss to it, then withdrew when she fidgeted in her sleep. _Alone again…_


	43. A Coward Too

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

43

"A Coward Too"

I woke early, mostly out of habit. Just as well, the day would start soon, and I still had to be getting back. I was extremely reluctant though, not wanting to leave the room, especially not wanting to see Erik. Over the night my sorrow had transformed into a grudging anger, settling on the man who had rejected me a little over an hour ago. Though leaving him would still be painful, I almost couldn't wait to step through my mirror, to escape him and everything that reminded me of him forever. _The sooner I'm away, the sooner I can get back to my life and forget him. Just like he's forgetting me. _I put on my shoes, attempted to straighten my hair, and walked out of the room, shoulders back, head held high. I affected the air that I often had observed him rely on, cold, distant, unfeeling. _He can't know that he hurt me, at least not permanently. I'll get over it._

He was standing hunched over his organ, righting himself as I approached. Our eyes connected, I gave him a bland stare, his rich with emotion. I ignored it, sharply turning on heel to stride to the boat. He followed, stepping in after me, pushing away from the rock bank with the poll. The trip was in silence as well as darkness. His scent was on me, I felt somewhat nauseated by it, all too aware that I loved it before. He attempted to help me out of the boat, but despite the darkness, I hobbled out myself, knowing that I was 'cutting off my nose to spite my face'. Once again, he tried to help me through the pitch, his hand on my elbow, I tensed at the touch and pulled away, disgusted with myself. _Nice. Yet again, I fall for the wrong guy. How could I have not realized there wasn't a chance? How could I be so dumb? Bastard. This is his fault. _I knew it wasn't, but I really wanted to blame him.We reached a different exit this time, coming out of a strange door in a wall. I wanted to take a bath, scrub his scent, the feel of him, off of me, and once we were out, I gave him a sharp nod, leaving him there. Walking away, I heard the door in the wall click close behind me, he was gone.

It was hard to block out the thought of him, everywhere I looked, I remembered something that would connect to him. Furious with myself, and dreading my meeting with Fauvre, I wished the day had a fast-forward button, wanting to get through it as quickly as possible. But soon I was distracted by chores that needed to be done before the show, Kathryn chattering to me as if nothing had changed, Nathaniel giving me a squashing hug in his nervous excitement. Graham found me as well, I couldn't help but be slightly cool to him. Even though I decided that I despised Erik, I didn't _really_ want any harm to come to him, my mental wishes for him writhing in pain only half-hearted. Graham seemed to notice, and tried to be exceptionally sweet. I only became more biting, not wanting male attention, or any attention at all. Eventually, he gave up, leaving me in relative peace.

Minutes before the show began, I ducked into the backroom, waiting. Fauvre wasn't there, I waited for several minutes, debating whether I should just give up. I was still going to carry out Erik's plan, I didn't have any other choice. I still wasn't low enough to sell him out, I just wanted to get away. _Maybe_. The longer I waited for Fauvre, the more frequent thoughts that he wouldn't show and I could just stay with Erik came, hope once again rising. The backdoors swinging open and Fauvre stepping into the room squashed the hopes, and I pushed away the slight pain at their destruction.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Shepherd. Excellent timing." The Inspector strode towards me, a triumphant smirk on his lips. I tartly sneered at him, impatient to get this over with.

"Wish I could say the same for you. You brought it?" My eyes flicked to the clothed rectangle he carried. The smirk drained off of his face.

"Yes. And what of your answer?" He snapped.

"I have decided to take it, Inspector. My mirror for the Phantom of the Opera." He chuckled then, delighted.

"Excellent. I can already feel my promotion." He muttered. "Where is he?" I remained stiff, firm.

"He is not here, Inspector. Now it is _my_ turn for a proposition."

"What?" He growled, gripping the frame of the mirror tightly.

"I will not only tell you the location of the Phantom, but hand him over to you myself. If,"

"If?" I could see he was intrigued, I was only making his job easier. I pressed on.

"_If_ you will give me the mirror completely fixed. The glass must be flawless." He blinked at me, shocked.

"You wish to hand me the Phantom directly for a _fixed_ _mirror_?" He barked out a laugh at that. I was suddenly anxious, wondering if he would refuse. _If he does…everything goes to hell. _

"Well, do we have a deal?"

"Indeed, indeed, Mam'selle. What are your terms? How soon can he be delivered?"

"The intermission of the next performance. You will give me the mirror, fully repaired, at the intermission, and I will give you the Phantom." He was still grinning, obviously excited.

"Very well. When I have my hands on the Phantom, you will have your mirror, fully repaired." He paused, suddenly becoming suspicious. "Be warned, though, Mam'selle. If you try to cheat me, you will sorely regret it. At the intermission, then. Good evening." He gave me a sharp bow, and with my mirror under arm, quit the back room. _The first step's been taken…If he at least comes through on this, I'll get to leave!_

I heard there were once again few flaws in the show, the audience was delighted. I, on the other hand, was in a world-class bad mood, stressed to the point of cracking. One small blessing was that my room was empty, Erik-free. _The last time I see him, he will be with Fauvre…_I dismissed the thought, flopping into bed and blowing out my lamp.

- - -

The next day was a rest day, I stayed in bed as late as I could, ignoring the fact that I should have been out working. It seemed to be all coming together, and I wasn't entirely worried about keeping my job. My dreams had been confused, and I woke with my pillow wet with tears. Apparently, they had been sad, but I couldn't remember. My thoughts shifted from the job I would be leaving to the friends I would be leaving. I cared for my friends at home, but didn't seem to connect with them as well as I connected with Kathryn or Nathaniel. Leaving Erik was one thing, but leaving them? That would be the difficult part. Sitting up in bed, I felt a sort of trepidation_. I should tell them…come clean before I leave, even if they hate me forever…_Getting up, I got dressed, preparing myself physically as well as mentally to tell them. But after searching the opera house for nearly an hour, I couldn't find them. _They must be gone! Damn!_

Standing in the middle of the grand entrance hall, I found myself with nothing to do. Feeling a little grungy, I decided a bath was in order, to help me relax. After collecting my toiletries, I headed towards the bathrooms. The water wasn't heated, so I had to heat it over a small stove in the corner, and then fill the tub. Finally getting my warm bath, I began to undress. All of my clothes gone, the last place my hand went was to my throat, at the weight that hung there. _The necklace…_When it all came down to it, the necklace was the biggest reminder of him, of what could have been. I dropped my head, smiling, the smile pain-filled. _He didn't follow me to spy on me, he followed me to get this…that stupid man…_Even though I had wanted to rid myself of everything that reminded me of him, I kept the necklace on, Kathryn's words coming to mind. _"... looks like a Celtic peace kno'. Symbolizin' peace with oneself , with others, an' in relationships…"_

"A Celtic peace knot. Symbolizing peace with oneself, with others, and in relationships…" I muttered, running my fingers over the charm. _Ironic._ Climbing into the tub, I sucked in my breath, sinking under the water. Sitting up into the air again, after only a few minutes of being in the tub, I decided I was finished, wanting to go hide in my room again and wait for everything to be over_. It's the easy way out…I'm a coward too. _Once again I was backing down, afraid to confront my problems, my feelings. For everyone, for Erik. _I tried, I tried to tell them, I looked…_I was fleeing instead, wrapped only in a robe, pelting down the hall. Whipping my door open, I slammed it behind me, irrationally afraid of confronting my fears. They were not afraid of confronting me.


	44. We'll Have Our Two Days

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

44

"We'll Have Our Two Days"

"Gwen," I froze at the door, still facing it, lowering my head to press into it.

"Why are you here, Erik? He accepted, just as you knew he would." I heard shuffling behind me, knowing that he was standing up, moving towards me.

"Gwen, please, listen." I didn't want to look at him, ashamed of myself, ashamed of the feelings I still held for him. It had been nearly two days since it had all happened, it felt like years. I didn't want to fight, emotionally exhausted by the whole thing, I limply turned around, facing him. He stood, clouded in his classic black folds of fabric, a few feet away, the lamp was behind him, and I couldn't see his face.

"What is it?"

"I—" He stopped, seemingly at loss for words. This was a first for him, even when he was most upset, most vulnerable, he knew what he wanted to say. I waited, but he just stood there. Resisting the urge to snap at him, I opened the door, hoping he would just leave. He strode toward the door purposefully, but pressed his palm against it, slamming it closed. Surprised, I backed up against it, he followed, thrusting an arm on each side of me, trapping me.

"Erik—" I started, growing nervous at his aggressive actions.

"I have not slept in _three_ days, Gwendolyn!" He barked abruptly, I recoiled further into the door. "I cannot—_cannot_ stop thinking about you!" He threw himself away from me, beginning to pace. "All the time, _constantly_! I have not slept, I have not eaten…I need to know—" He stopped pacing, whirling at me, the light finally throwing rays on his face. It was panicked, scrunched up in horror, desperation, eyes reddened and wild. "Do you _hate_ me? Like—like everyone else? Just tell me! Tell me the truth!" I was stricken aback, not knowing what to say. Looking down, I forced my eyes back to him, pained by his anguished expression.

"No, Erik. No, I don't hate you…I couldn't." I mumbled quietly. Shocking me further, he dropped to his knees, giving a harsh cry. He crumpled in front of me, everything was so sudden that I was at a loss about what to do. I couldn't be angry, and I was more scared for him than of him, I had never seen him suffer this sort of break-down. Our night before in the caverns had been traumatic, but this was just frighteningly pathetic. Kneeling next to him, I tried to help, not knowing how.

"Do not hate me, _please_…" His shoulders were shaking, I embraced him, trying to stop the trembling. I whispered to him that I didn't, stroking his hair, focusing only on him, my own hurt not even occurring to me. He lifted his head to stare at me, reaching out to my face.

"Please, I know I do not deserve your forgiveness, but know that I did not, _do not_, want to hurt you, never. _Never_." He held my face, brushing away the tears that were now falling with his thumbs. "I _care_ for you, Gwendolyn. I do _not_ want to let you go."

"But you said—you said you can't—"

"I know," he rasped, pressing his forehead against mine. "I was a fool, still am a fool. Even if it is only for a short time, I _need_ you. _Please_…do not leave me _alone_." The last sentence barely audible, my anger fell away, my shame dissolving. _He_ wants _me…_ I was elated, excited, _happy_. But cold logic snuck into my brain, reminding me.

"Erik…it would be for less than two days. We would have tonight and part of tomorrow. Is that _fair_, for either of us?" His eyes snapped to mine, wary.

"You—you do not want me?" He burst in a grating whisper. I shook my head vigorously, I wanted him more than ever.

"I just don't want to _hurt_ you, _or_ myself. It might just be easier this way…" He sagged in my arms, lifelessly.

"I am already hurt…this is only losing you two days sooner." His words sank in. _It will only hurt more if you let anything happen…_My rational side reminded me. Making a decision, I ignored it, realizing that I hated my rational side. _It will hurt no matter what, he's right. At least we'll get two days._ I pulled him into my arms, rocking him gently.

"We'll have our two days then." His face shot up, eyes wide. A dazzling smile broke across his face, he actually laughed, squeezing me to him. I joined in with his laughter, a yawn cutting through it. Standing up dreamily, I pulled him up with me, towards my bed. His eyes shifted between me and the bed, warily, all of his previous exuberance gone.

"Gwendolyn, I…" I shushed him, lying down and pulling at him to lie beside me.

"I just want to lay here with you, Erik. To sleep. Stay with me." His eyes once again darted to the door, but he instead nodded, removing his cloak and his shoes. I was still only in my robe, I realized. Getting up from the bed, I crossed to my wardrobe, pulling out a cotton nightgown, yet another piece of clothing I had found in the costume room. _I can't wait until I can wear a decent pair of jeans again…_

"I'm going to change, don't look." I called to him over my shoulder. Biting my lip, I suppressed a stupid giggle_. I wouldn't mind all that much if he looked, but it would probably scare the man to death._ Slipping out of the robe, I pulled on the nightgown and undergarments. He still stood, his back rigidly to me, motionless. I wondered if he had frozen there, not daring to move an inch since I said anything. Fully dressed, I managed to suppress my comical smile at him, and tightly embraced his back. He swiveled in my arms, returning the embrace. Even when I yawned and pulled away to get into bed, he refused to let go, lying down first and pulling me down on top of him. I sighed, finally at peace with the world, he nuzzled at my neck, squeezing me tighter. Feeling more relaxed that I could ever remember being before, I began to drift into sleep to his steady breathing. Half-dozing, I barely woke when he softly spoke.

"Gwendolyn?"

"Yes, Erik?" I answered into his chest.

"I realized the other night…will you tell me about yourself? I feel as if you know me better than any human being alive, and yet, I know nothing of you." I smiled into his chest, opening my eyes and folding my arms under my chin so I could look at him_. I do know him better than anyone else. Christine never knew him, she never even tried. She was too convinced that he was an angel._ _Stupid girl…_

"What do you want to know?" I asked, grinning at him broadly. It was sweet that he wanted to know more about me.

"What do you do, during your days in your time? You do not appear to be of the higher classes, your language and lack of propriety makes that apparent. Do you work? As you do in this time, with other lower class women?" His question was sincere, but I honestly didn't know whether to be amused or insulted. I chose amused, knowing he was trying his best. _He can't help it if he sucks with people. Especially women._ I gave him a patient smile.

"It's different in the future, Erik. People aren't defined by class anymore, not where I live. At least, not really. Not like here. I spend my days like most other people do. I have a job, I work at a vet's office." He listened patiently, but obviously had no idea what that was. "An animal doctor, we take care of people's pets." I explained, he snorted.

"Animals need their own doctors in the future? How droll…" I scowled at him, lightly punching him on the chest. He chortled, fending me off with a hand.

"Well, that's not the only thing I do. I am also a grad student at Georgetown, a university."

"They have women's universities in America?"

"They have everybody universities in America. And all over the rest of the world, too. Men and women of any race, any religion, any anything, all go to school together. That's the way things are." He seemed to take that in, rolling it around in his head. He must have decided it was fine, continuing the conversation.

"Humanity has progressed, I see…What do you study?" I drew loopy circles on the back of his hand with my finger.

"A lot of things, actually. Mostly science, I love science." His brows drew together.

"You do not study music? I knew your voice was had not been used for some time…" I pursed my lips, considering.

"I do love music, I always will, but…I have to take care of myself. I like science, and it can provide for me. Besides, I couldn't compete with some of the people out there, you've heard me…" He grunted, I tried to read his eyes, hoping it wouldn't offend him."Yes, I have. You are not untalented, Gwendolyn, merely out of practice. You could out compete anyone in the world if I were your teacher." He replied staunchly, not without a touch of adorable arrogance. I chuckled a little bit, unable to hold it in. _I bet I could, with his help…but it can't happen._ The idea excited me, but I pushed it away, refusing to let myself hope that staying with him was a possibility. _It's not._ I shrugged instead, acting like I didn't really care.

"With your help, I'm sure I could. But it can't be like that, and I've made my choice. …Is that ok…?" He seemed surprised that I even asked, but I wanted to make sure it didn't bother him. Music was his life, but it wasn't mine. _Not anymore_.

"Of course. It is your life, Gwendolyn. Live it as you wish." I flashed him a brilliant smile, he was wonderful. But it only reminded me that it couldn't last. My mood dropped slightly and I rested my head against his chest. He lay silent for a few moments, I let myself drift away in thought, thinking that "question time" was over. I was mistaken. "Why do you wear your hair like that? So short? It is very masculine." He commented airily. My eyes shot open, I sat up on top of him, slightly incredulous.

"I can't believe you just said that. Do you think I'm a man or something?" I placed my hands on my waist, accentuating my curves in the cotton nightgown. He apparently realized his fumble, the question had been innocent enough, I knew, but couldn't help but feel a little put out. His eyes widened, roaming over the curves the wide nightgown had covered, and the normally eloquent Erik stammered out an explanation.

"No—no, that is not what I meant—only that women generally wear their hair longer—and I thought—" He was so mixed up that I actually laughed, leaning down to give him a light kiss, hopefully to reassure him that I wasn't particularly offended. Resting my forehead briefly against his, I relaxed again.

"It's fine, Erik. I know what you meant. Um, to answer your question, I like short hair. It's less of a hassle." He ran his fingers through it, his eyes combing my face, my hair. His brows drew together slightly, cloudy green eyes fringed by black lashes squinted a little in concentration. His hand ran down the curve of my cheek, cupping my jaw.

"You are very beautiful, Gwendolyn." He spoke gently, possibly more gently than I had ever seen him before. I felt my cheeks flush with pleasure, at loss for a response._ I love you._ Instead, I rested my head down on his chest again, wanting only to be closer to him. The conversation seemed over, he was silent, and my thoughts began to lose focus with the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath me.

"Gwendolyn?" His soft voice sounded again.

"Hmmmm?" More of a mumbled grunt than an answer, I continued to drift between consciousnesses.

"Will you tell me more about the future?" I peeled my eyes open. I couldn't help but smile, it was one of the few moments that Erik could actually be described as "adorable", which normally wouldn't be anywhere near the vocabulary list used to express him. Now he was though, head tucked between my pillows, cloudy green eyes drooping framed by heavy lashes in the soft light of my lamp. _He's probably just going to fall asleep as soon as I start talking…_I chuckled softly and agreed, planting another light kiss on his lips.

"Well, everything is bigger than it is here. I live in Washington DC, which is probably bigger than Paris is in this time. The buildings are taller, there are more people, millions more. Everything seems to be at a much faster pace, too. People are always rushing everywhere, you can't just…be. Even me, I would go to class in the mornings, and then go to work…then I would run errands, and once home I would do my homework…It kind of sucked, you know? You couldn't just have a nice, calm, quiet day." I glanced down at him, he gave me a light smile, one eyes still drooping as he tried not to fall asleep. I laughed, determined to continue for as long as he would listen. "Compared to here, the world is a much bigger, and smaller, place. Everything, everyone is connected. Not only with technology but with politics, economics…So if I wanted to get to the United States now, I would have to go by ship, which would probably take weeks, maybe even months. Where I come from, it would take hours, true though, the time in the airport would probably make the total time over a day…"

"How is this possible?" He mumbled, the eye now closed, the other forcibly being held open as he struggled against his utter exhaustion. Sighing, I rested my head on his chest, he steadily ran his knuckles along my back.

"Man invented the ability to fly, Erik. Airplanes are able to carry hundreds of people through the air to different places, all over the world. I have to admit though, I've never been on a plane myself…I always wanted to, I think it would be so exciting, flying. I mean, all my friends say it isn't that great, but even when I went to school in New York, we always drove or took the train…It's funny, I always wanted to see Europe, I was even going to take a class in London, but then I didn't." I wished that I hadn't said anything about it, it brought angry memories.

"Why not?" He probed, not offensively, just out of curiosity. I sighed irritably into his chest.

"Josh, my boyfriend at the time, wouldn't let me." He grunted, then attempted to sit up, causing me to sit up as well. He said nothing, but his eyes pled for me to continue, and I obliged, our peace soured slightly. "It was the only thing I _really_ wanted to do, the only thing I was _really_ excited about…but he said he would break up with me if I did, he just _couldn't_ have a long distance relationship, even if it was only for a couple of months. I didn't know until later that he was sleeping with other people at the time, I was _so afraid_ of losing him. I felt like he was the most important thing in my life, and that I should cater to his wants…_ugh_! I was such an _idiot_!" Angry with myself for being so weak, so stupid, I dropped my face to my hands, lightly clubbing myself in the forehead with my palms, trying to vent my frustration. Erik, though, remained calm and steady, gathering me into his lap, rocking me slightly, humming lightly into my ear in his divine voice.

"This is the man that left you with so much pain," He stated, I whipped my head up to look at him, surprised by his astute deduction. I nodded, he only held me tighter. He stroked my hair, mumbling into my ear. "If you so wished it, I would take you anywhere in the world at a moment's notice." A bright smile broke through my melancholy, I was touched.

"Well, I _am_ in Paris…" I attempted to make a joke about it, smiling feebly. His comment was beautiful, caring, but bittersweet. _We won't ever have the opportunity._ It brought a gentle smile to his lips, but his eyes were still worried. "Thank you, Erik. That means so, _so_ much to me. And don't worry about me, you don't have to. I'm not over _it_ yet, but I _am_ over _him_." I ran my hand along his jaw, pulling him into a passionate, sincere kiss. "You have my undivided attention." He chuckled at that.

"I know what it is like to be betrayed, Gwendolyn. Know that I understand. And know," He kissed me again, even more passionately than the last, and then rested his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes. "That you have _my_ undivided attention." It was my turn to chuckle, I felt inexplicably happy at that moment. "Let us discuss more of the future in the future, mon églantier. I do not wish to wait, but am falling asleep…for once." I agreed, and sat up long enough for him to stretch back down, then curled up beside him again.

"What's that mean, Erik?" I asked through closed eyes. When he responded, his voice was slightly hesitant, bumpy, perhaps embarrassed.

"It means…'my wild rose'. Forgive me, I did not intend to say it." He was clearly embarrassed about it, but I was delighted and truly touched, raising up on my elbows to look at him. He refused to open his own eyes, brows drawn down in effort to force himself asleep before I could mock him. I kissed him soundly instead, he opened his eyes to that.

"You do not mind?"

"No, I like it, I really do. But before you officially get to call me that, you have to tell me why." I teased, poking him lightly in the chest. Somberly, and with full seriousness, he listed the reasons.

"Well, mostly it refers to your fiery red hair, and exquisite beauty,"

"Aww, Erik, that's so—" He cut me off, losing his seriousness, an actual humor-filled, winning smile on his lips.

"But it partially refers to your prickly temper and wild, confusing nature." He actually laughed outright, a rich, deep laugh. Huffing, and not really insulted at all, though pretending to be, I grabbed a pillow and knocked him firmly on the head, on the side without the mask so I wouldn't go too far and hit it off. He rolled over, attempting to hide, still laughing heartily. He lost his balance as I continued to beat his back with the pillow, he snaked an arm about my waist and we both fell to the floor, feet in the air. I was now laughing uncontrollably too, and after a few moments it dwindled. He got to his feet first, bending to scoop me up, tossing me back onto the bed. _It feels so…normal. …weird. _He came down on top of me, no longer concerned with going to sleep, and no longer hesitant at all. As he enveloped me in sudden passion, I privately marveled at the change from almost fearful to touch me to wildly aggressive. Frankly, it was enthralling and I eagerly responded. His hands left my face, starting to trail down my form, brushing against my breast. Suddenly, he ripped away, sitting backwards on his knees. Confused, I sat up.

"Forgive me—I should not have—" He stammered. I tried not to laugh, the man was a virgin in every extreme, and afraid that he had offended me. I reached forward to clasp his hands, soothing him.

"It's fine, Erik. Relax. You didn't do anything wrong. If I don't like something, I'll tell you, and I won't be mad. Calm down, you're fine." I reassured him, he nodded shallowly. He looked so humiliated and ashamed, spooked by his own interest. "Maybe we should just go to sleep." I muttered, and he nodded again, allowing me to pull him back down. Tentatively wrapped his arms around me, he curled up against me, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, as if to ward off my "anger". I gave him a soft kiss to reassure him again and then, my heart still beating hard, and still a little out of breath, forced myself to go to sleep. My body, however, was fully awake, and I felt slightly frustrated. Determined to forget it and fall asleep, I ignored it, my brain kept me up longer, working over the scene_. He's so aggressive, sometimes frighteningly so, and he moves with such elegance, one would just assume that he knows exactly what he's doing in bed. Well, with less than two days, I guess we'll never get to that point anyway, especially with Erik moving at a glacial pace, and then freaking out every time we actually start getting into it._ I had had boyfriends in the past, I wasn't new to physical relationships. And, ever since I had started to _like_ Erik, I _had_ become aware of him physically. His tall, lean form, with his effortless grace and strength was incredibly attractive to me. Funnily enough, his dark, brooding, mysterious personality also attracted me, he was a complete polar opposite to all the other men I had dated in my life. Honestly, he wasn't my type. But at the same time, I didn't think I had ever been as attracted to someone, and the chemistry between us was amazing. _Whatever, I guess I'll just have to take what I can get, I don't want to pressure him…_ Erik, though, didn't seem like the classic timid virgin, more like near-paranoid prude_. He's never even had a friend before, can you blame him for not knowing anything about sex? True, Gaston portrayed him as this alluringly sensual man, having a raw sexual power over Christine…I'm beginning to doubt that the book has any reality in it at all. Erik does exude a kind of masculine, sexual feel, but obviously has no idea…silly man. God, I just wish we had more time!_

The thought of leaving him was becoming more and more difficult to conceive, and I wrenched myself fully awake, suddenly aware that we only had a little time left. His breathing hadn't changed either, it was still rather fast. I figured, pulling away from him slightly, that he was still awake. Poking him in the ribs gently in the ribs at first, he grunted softly and ignored me, apparently still frazzled by his "mistake". I poked him again, now knowing that he wasn't asleep.

"Erik? Erik, are you awake?" He cracked one eye open at me.

"With you prodding me, it is difficult to sleep." He returned grumpily. But his voice wasn't distorted by sleep, nor had his breathing slowed, and I knew that I hadn't forced him awake.

"I can't sleep."

"You seemed perfectly able before,"

"Well, now I can't." I sat up, stretching. He opened his other eye, watching me. His breathing actually sped up, eyes still slightly glazed with interest. I wanted to still talk to him, be with him, and had no intention of letting him fall asleep. I was struck by the sudden need to get out of my stuffy room, and leaned on top of him.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" I crawled off the bed, standing and grabbing in my wardrobe for a jacket or robe. He now sat up, I had struck his curiosity. I knew he hadn't slept in three days, but also knew that he didn't sleep that much anyway, and he was obviously still wide awake. _Another hour or two won't kill him, and the longer this night lasts, the more time I can actually be with him…_

"Where did you have in mind?" A small, droll smile hung on his lips as he watched me whip a robe on over my shoulders. I thought on it for a moment, I wanted it to be special, peaceful, memorable, where no one else would bother us, where we could be safe and blissfully alone. His caverns weren't right, they reminded me already of fights and anger.

"The roof?" I wondered at him, his lips thinned as he rolled the idea around in his head.

"Gwen, it is freezing up there," He eyes lingered on my thin cotton nightgown, even if it was mostly covered up. I shrugged, not much caring. _Worst comes to worst, he'll have to keep me warm…_And that certainly wasn't an unpleasant thing.

"So? Come one, I'll be fine." I strode to my door, opening it and glancing around the hall.

"You do realize it is the middle of the night…?" He reasoned from behind me, quickly stuffing his feet back into his shoes and putting his discarded clothing back on. I glanced over my shoulder to shoot him an ironic expression, he snorted, but gestured for me to continue on.


	45. I Never Said Thank You

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

45

"I Never Said Thank You"

I led the way, Erik close behind me. The halls were pitch tunnels, no light could reach them as they were too far into the underbelly of the opera house, and only a few lanterns were kept burning throughout the night. I knew my path well enough by now to not really need the light, but kept Erik close so he would warn me if I was about to bump into something. He was distracting, using every pause in my step for a light caress on my cheek, or in my hair. I practically glowed in the attention, my heart racing, but was determined to carry out my plan. We were slow to even emerge from the hallways, I had to stop a few times for a quick kiss. Or a not so quick one. Instead of taking a direct route to the rooftop, I deviated, taking a detour. Erik, ever close behind me, seized my hand and whispered so low he was barely audible even to me.

"This is not the way to the rooftop, Gwen." I flashed him a devious grin in the darkness, knowing he could probably see it.

"We're taking a pit-stop in the kitchens." It was too dark for me to really see his face, but I could practically feel his scowl.

"The kitchens? A 'pit-stop'?" He wanted an explanation, but I wasn't in the mood to give him one, wanting only to surprise him, pulling him along beside me.

Moonlight poured in through the wide windows, allowing me to see without trying to light a lantern. I busied myself with looking for a few things around the kitchens, I had been in there often enough cleaning to know where most everything went.

"What are you doing?" Erik demanded, standing staunchly with his arms across his chest.

"It's a surprise, don't be such a party pooper." I replied teasingly while continuing my search.

"A what?" I chuckled to myself, not bothering to answer. Finding the ingredients I needed, a pot, a spoon, and some matches, I began to prepare my "surprise". It only took a few minutes, the milk and chocolate pieces to melt together, combining and heating quickly.

"Erik, will you get us some glasses? They should be in that far cabinet." I waved in its direction, Erik, grumbling, obliged. Bringing the glasses over, he set the on the counter, what was visible of his face disapproving. I poured the contents of the pot into the glasses, carefully handing him one so not to burn myself. He gingerly took it, lifting it to his face to smell it. Making an odd face, he lifted it hesitantly to his lips.

"No!" I seized his hand, he lurched away from me, startled.

"What! What is this!" Realizing I had freaked him out, I laughed, holding up my hands to reassure him.

"Sorry, it's fine. I just didn't want you to drink it yet, you'll ruin the surprise."

"You expect to climb onto the roof with this in my hand?" He complained, irritable that I had surprised him, and refused to tell him what it was.

"Come on, it's not that hard." He grimaced, but I gave him my hopefully most charming smile, and he de-tensed, giving up. Being sure to put everything away, I caught his free hand, leading him out of the kitchens to the roof.

- - -

We broke into the chilling starlight, Erik shoved open the trapdoor to climb onto the roof, turning to help me up. It was just as cold as he said it would be, I never doubted him, and I clutched my robe more tightly around me, trying to fight my teeth from chattering. Erik gave me a smug smile, I couldn't help but return it, chuckling as I wrapped an arm around him. He lifted his cloak out from underneath my arm, enfolding me in it. It was exactly what I wanted, and ambled with him over to the edge, seating myself. He did the same, careful to keep the cloak around me. We sat there for a moment, both at utter peace while looking out over Paris bathed in moonlight. He sighed then, cutting into the stillness of the night, pulling me closer and resting his chin atop my head.

"I always came up here alone. I never thought I would…have anyone to share this with…" He mumbled, voice thick. I set down my drink, still hot, and encircled him with both arms, squeezing tightly. _I love you_ I thought to him again, but remained silent. Ever surprising me with his tenderness, he lightly kissed the top of my head, resting his cheek against my forehead and pulling me in tighter still. We stayed like that for a few more moments, the only thoughts in my mind were of how much I cared about him. He pulled away gently, turning his attention to the drink he had struggled to keep from spilling on our arduous climb. One side of his mouth pulled up in a quizzical, if somewhat humorous, smile, he held the glass aloft.

"Will you now tell me what this is?" I reached out to touch the glass with my knuckles, making sure it was still warm. It had cooled somewhat since I had made it, the night air causing it, but was still warm enough to be pleasant. I raised my own glass to my lips, smiling up at him.

"It's hot chocolate. Try it, you'll love it." He looked suspicious, but watching me drink my own, he took a cautious sip. Though he tried to keep his expression steady, his eyes widened slightly, and he took a larger gulp. I laughed at him, grinning broadly, leaning in to nudge him with my elbow.

"Weeelll?" He gazed down at me, trying to keep his face expressionless.

"It is decent." I laughed outright at that, taking another mouthful of my own. We were quiet again after that, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was strange to me to be able to just sit with him like this, for as long as we had known each other, there was always a crisis that needed to be dealt with, or some disagreement between us. Generally both at the same time. Now as I sat with him, all of Paris spread out below us in black, white and silver, I could ignore the inevitable, think only on the present. With him. All of his tension left him, I could feel him relax beside me, all of the anxiety over the past few days drain out of him. I set my glass back down, letting go of Erik and dropping backwards. Surprised by this, Erik turned to stare down at me, brows folding with mild puzzlement.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanted to look at the stars." I smiled up at him, feeling a little stupid. Pursing his lips for a moment, he lay down beside me, having me sit up for a moment so he could tuck an arm underneath my head. I felt yet another wave of absolute adoration for him, it was the small gestures that I loved the most. "Do you know any of the constellations?" I wondered aloud to him, the man, I knew, was thoroughly educated, even if it all was self-taught.

"Some," He lifted his other arm to trace a figure into the night sky with his finger. "That right there is Orion, he is one of the easiest to identify." I nodded, Orion was one of the few that I knew. "He was named by the Ancient Greeks. Another named by the Greeks was Hercules. Right there," He traced another figure. "Hercules was often connected in mythology to that constellation, Draco." I loved listening to him, I would never tire of his voice, the way it flowed through his words. He progressed through the sky, a wealth of information. I could not help but be proud of him, I knew he was brilliant, but it seemed that at every moment, he only proved it further.

"How do you know all this?" I marveled, unable to keep awe out of my voice. He actually chuckled, turning his head to look at me.

"I have obtained many books over the years, Gwendolyn. I read." I turned to face him as well, giving him a slight grin.

"If I could learn like you just by reading, I would have my doctorate by now, no problem." His lips thinned, considering that.

"I have had years alone, I have had much time to read." I had put my foot in my mouth somehow, his comment depressed me horribly. Not knowing what to say, I rolled against him, massaging at his arm.

"I'm sorry." I couldn't think of anything else to say, but I did really mean it. I was sorry for all the pain he had lived through, for everything he had been denied_. I wouldn't deny you anything, I will give you all of the love I can, all of the love that you will let me. _He remained silent for a while, I figured he was analyzing it, the tone and inflection in my voice, to check for sincerity. He wouldn't, couldn't, doubt me, but he had been suspicious of everyone for so long, no one had ever been accepting of him before. Then finally, he spoke, just as heartfelt and just as simply.

"Thank you." We had used so many words over the course of the past few days to express what we felt, but this seemed most honest, most true to me. I understood him, I felt for him, I cared for him, and he knew it. I wanted then to tell him I loved him, I wanted him to know it. I wanted him to understand it and accept it. But I still remained quiet. _He wouldn't accept it, it would probably confuse and frighten him. No one has ever cared for him, I doubt that he would really understand that anyone could, that I did. …And it would probably hurt more when I leave…for both of us._ So instead, I brought up books I had read, textbooks, most recently. I did not mention Leroux's novel about him, I didn't think he would take hearing about it well. He seemed very interested in the topic, easily discussing books that he had read as well. Though I knew he was interested in a vast amount of subjects, I had no idea how vast. He talked about all sorts of literature, math, science, languages, history, mythology, everything. I had never been more grateful for my more modern education, and all the gen-eds I had to take in college, I could actually discuss most of the topics with him. He was impressed by my updated knowledge on most of the subjects, especially science. Being my concentration, I lectured until my voice started to give out, interrupted only occasionally by his inquisitive questions. When I couldn't talk about it anymore, I curled up next to him, seeking his warmth against the still frigid night. We lay there, staring at the stars, I hardly saw them though, thinking on him, on us.

"…Erik?" I asked tentatively.

"Hmmm?" _How do I ask this?_ I rolled over on his arm slightly to be able to look at him.

"…Why did you agree to help me?" His expression remained blank for a while, then darkened, his brows knitting, eyes closing. Then he opened them again, turning to look straight back at me, eyes pain-filled and piercing.

"You were alone," He responded simply, with his intense expression, I had been expecting more. But as I mulled over his response, it made more and more sense to me why he would say that. He surprised me then, continuing, eyes dropping my gaze. "I know what it is to be alone." I nodded slowly, the depth of his simple answer dawning on me. _He must have seen some of his own loneliness in me, he knows what it feels like to be without anyone you can rely on or trust. I needed help, and he knew it, knew that I couldn't talk to anyone else. "I always came up here alone. I never thought I would…have anyone to share this with…" "I have had years alone, I have had much time to read."…So he helped me, so I wouldn't be alone anymore._ It was heart-breaking, how very much alone he had been, and even more so how he had seen it in me and wanted to help. If anything, I fell only more in love with him at that moment. I snuggled closer against him.

"I know how you feel," I replied softly. I hadn't gone through the same thing, I didn't think anyone ever could have, but I had felt lonely for a long time, and felt I could relate somewhat. _I've had my friends, family, Josh…but none of them ever really got me. They pressured me to do this or that, but never understood me…My family loves me, that's undeniable, but I'm the oddball, the black sheep, no matter how much Mom tries to include me…And my friends…they cared, I know, but we couldn't just talk about things, we always had to be doing something, going somewhere, just to fill the time so it wouldn't get dull. I couldn't tell them things, how I felt…Josh. Josh, God, Josh. I really thought he understood me, I really thought he got me. But he didn't, and I realized it, and I just tried to be the person he wanted me to be. And then, even I didn't get me. I was alone then, even when surrounded by people... And Erik, Erik wasn't accepted for what he looked like. I wasn't accepted really for who I was. In a different way, I was just as alone as he was. _My gaze swept over the man beside me, he was staring back at the stars, brows still drawn together in deep thought. As I looked at him, analyzing all of his features, I felt yet another swell of pure adoration and appreciation_. Erik gets me. We aren't alone anymore._ Once again, the realization that tonight was our last night together, our only time left, crept up on me. I bit my lip to keep from reacting to the thought, I didn't want to upset him, but it was crippling. _I'm leaving…We'll be alone again._

Erik broke through my rush of depression, still staring at the stars, but thinking still on my question.

"You asked me why I agreed to help you. I—I did not give you the complete answer." Perplexed, I watched him as he pulled away to sit up, now staring down at me. His expression was deep, I could tell we were moving into a sensitive area. "Gwen…" He broke off, glancing away, looking pained. I watched his mental battle as he dragged his gaze forcibly back to my own, trying again. "Gwen. The first time I saw you, met you, was days after Christine left. I was…I was not doing well, you must understand this." Confused and worried for him, I nodded, afraid of what he might say next. "I was a beaten man, and only felt pain, misery. I hated myself, and could only hurt myself out of that hate." My horror was growing, a realization came to me. Sitting up, I reached out to his face, running a light finger over his skin where the scratches were, appalled. They were mostly healed now, they weren't even visible anymore, but I remembered. I distinctly recalled the tiny scratches that littered the flesh of his face, how they would have been the precise size of fingernails.

"Erik…your face…you—you—" He nodded, answering my question.

"I only wanted to end the hate, the pain…I had put all of my hopes for acceptance, for love, for anything on her. And she left. She left." He dropped against my shoulder, burying his face into my neck. I embraced him, trying not to tremble with the weight of what I knew he was saying. "I wanted to end it…and nearly did." Tears had swelled in my eyes, I knew that I had come very close to losing him. _Because of her…All because of her, she did this to him._ Silent tears ran down my cheeks, I squeezed him tighter, terrified at what he was admitting. But he pulled away from me, his eyes also filled with quiet tears. "But…but I was saved. At the last moment. A voice, a voice was singing, I heard it." He ran the back of his hand over my face, under my eyes, wiping the tears away. He actually smiled slightly, but it wasn't a pleasant smile, it was self-mocking, harsh and unkind. "I—I thought it was Christine. I thought she had come back to me." He gave an acidic laugh, I flinched away at the sound, it was saturated with pent-up anger and bitterness. But then he raised his eyes again, locking with mine, bitterness suddenly gone. "But it was you. It was you, Gwen. You—you saved my life. When I said I was indebted to you, that you had performed an act of kindness that I would never forget, that was it. You prevented me from letting go…and continue to prevent me."

I didn't know what to say, I hadn't known that I had saved him, that my stupid few minutes belting out my ugly tune had been his saving grace. It seemed unbelievable, flimsy, and I launched myself at him, suddenly terrified at how close I was to losing him, the man I loved. I wanted him abruptly to know it, to know that I loved him. I opened my mouth, scared, but wanting him to know. But he cut me off before I even got the words out. "I never said thank you," He placed his hands lightly on my face, a gentle smile reassuring me. "Thank you." He whispered, resting his forehead against my own. I let him pull me into another embrace, not saying the words. I thought instead on how close I had come to losing him, how he thought that I had saved his life. We lay back down in silence, my mind a confused jumble of emotions and possibilities, of what could have been. The only thing I was sure of was that I didn't want to leave him.


	46. Could Not Even Tell Her

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

46

"Could Not Even Tell Her"

"Gwen?" His voice light, it was enough to rouse me.

"Hmmm?"

"The sun is about to come up." I opened my eyes for that, sitting up.

"We've been out here that long?" I wrinkled my face up, hardly believing that I had been kind of sleeping on a rooftop all night. It hadn't been entirely comfortable, but gazing up at him, as he helped me to my feet, I knew it had to have been one of the most romantic nights of my life. Probably _the_ most romantic. He wrapped his cloak around me again, and we approached the edge of the roof, the same place we had stood all those weeks ago before going to the gala. Rubbing my eyes, I smiled over at him. _We argued so much…he made me so mad…_I couldn't help but give a laugh, it was abruptly so funny to me. Erik cocked a brow at me, the approaching light casting shadows on his face.

"Do you remember the last time we watched the sun rise together?" He actually laughed, surprising me a little.

"I do apologize for my behavior, you were very frustrating at the time. …Though, you still are very frustrating." I pretended to be offended, smacking him on the arm. He continued to laugh, a sound I wanted to hear more often.

"Well, you weren't exactly pleasant either, Mr. I'm-the-man-so-you-have-to-do-what-I-say." He chuckled, pulling me in for another squeeze. The clouds began to shift from gray to light pink, yellow, and orange, the first rays of sunlight branching over the edge of the roof. Deciding the squeeze just wasn't satisfactory, I grabbed his lapel to bring him down into a kiss, which he accepted enthusiastically.

The rays of light gathered, the sky lightening in a radiant display of color. I broke away from Erik only long enough to watch, then threw myself at him again, enjoying his new-found aggression. After several minutes, I found myself shoved up against a stone horseman, Erik pressed firmly against me. We paused to catch our breath, chests heaving. The fire in his eyes dimmed slightly as he struggled to regain control over himself, setting me down from my propped up position. He stepped back, but didn't release me, and did not apologize for any exploration. _Well that's a vast improvement…_Proud of him yet again, I embraced him gently, allowing myself to be tucked against him as he turned around.

"We should return, try to get a few hours of sleep before the day begins." He was right, I knew, but it saddened me none the less. I had actually forgotten that there was a whole world out there besides us_. Stupid. You've fallen hard this time, Gwen._ He led me back to the trap door, pausing only to pick up our glasses. It took far more time getting back to my room than it had getting to the roof, we had to be extra careful not to be seen. Although the sun had just risen, some were definitely already up, preparing for the day.

Slipping back into my room, I threw aside my robe, and pulled off Erik's cloak, gesturing for him to get back in bed. Devilish thoughts crept through my mind as I watched him discard his jacket, vest, and cravat, but I knew I was far too exhausted to act on them. Even after the passion he had just displayed, I didn't think I could coax him into going much further, he would need baby steps. I had no doubt that an absolute bounty of passion lay within him, but his insecurities kept it inside. It would take a gentle, slow evolution of trust to get him to progress. _And we just don't have the time_. It was that thought that exhausted me the most, not physically, but emotionally. I still had a few more hours with him, and shoving away the emotionally devastating thought, I crawled into bed beside him. He rolled onto his side to pull me against his chest, his breathing slowing as he already began to drift away. Wishing I could just stay with him more genuinely than I had wanted anything else, I was grateful when my mind began to slip away into sleep, so I could forget our time was almost spent.

- - -

I slept soundly, quickly taking to the warmth and comfort of another body in bed again. He slept like a rock, the only time he tossed was to turn over, and to my surprise, took me with him. It was a strange way to be woken up, being physically pulled across another body, and then placed on the other side of them. He didn't even really wake, humming softly in his sleep. When morning officially came, the first thing I realized was that it was our last day, and not even a full one at that. We only had an hour or so. I rolled over to face Erik, who, not surprisingly, was already awake, cloudy eyes fixed on me, one through the white half-mask. A tender smile played on his lips, bringing forth one of my own.

"Good morning, mon églantier. Did you sleep well?" He muttered into my forehead as he pressed his lips to it, running his hand over my shoulder.

"Like a log." I fought back the depression that had been building since I realized it was over, and replied as sunnily as possible. He crinkled his face a little in mild confusion. I grinned at him. "It's just an expression. I slept very well," I pressed light kisses over the exposed skin on his face cheerily. "You don't have to tell me how you slept, though. I already know. Do you know you hum in your sleep?" His brows drew together in general surprise, giving a rippling chuckle.

"I was not aware, I hope that I did not disturb you." I waved it away, still grinning foolishly.

"Nah, you can sing to me in your sleep anytime you want." I sat up and stretched, he apparently found that interesting and pulled me back down wrapping as much as himself around me as he could. I laughed gently, trying to disentangle myself, despite how much I would have rather stayed. _I wish we could just stay here. Stay in bed, and the day would be on pause…it wouldn't start._ Erik, unexpectedly, voiced my thoughts.

"Perhaps if we do not rise, then the day will simply refuse to begin…" He muttered into my shoulder.

"I was just thinking the same thing…" I wriggled around, facing him. "Erik, what happens if the mirror doesn't work?" His lips thinned, he mulled at the thought.

"Improvisation will be our only choice. We can only assume that it will." I slowly nodded, concerned, but trying not to show it. _If this doesn't work…we'll both be screwed._ He seemed to sense my worry, clinging to me more tightly. We lay there for several moments, and then he heavily unwound his arms, allowing me to get up. I didn't want to, and as soon as I was standing across the bed from him, I felt an almost crippling sense of regret tinged with dread and sorrow. His eyes were deadened he stood, slowly gathering the articles of clothing he had removed the night before. I helped him, he dragged towards my door, hunching slightly in front of it. _The next time I see him, I'll be leaving. Leaving him. I'll never see him again._ It didn't seem real, I couldn't grasp the concept. I crept up to him, knowing rationally it was the end, but not understanding. Not wanting to understand. But as I approached him, it slowly dawned. His face contorted looking at me, eyes reddening. _Oh God…Please don't let him cry…_He didn't, though tears seemed to threaten, and his face continued to twist in what appeared to be an effort to hold them back. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. We were less than a foot apart, and yet the distance that gathered between us was staggering.

"Gwendolyn, I—I—" He kept trying, then cutting off, looking hopeless, listless. He grit his teeth, nostrils flaring in barely controlled emotion. I couldn't stand it anymore and leapt at him, knocking him into the door with the weight of my impact. He slammed backward into the door, but didn't seem to notice at all, crushing me in his embrace. Tears of regret and explicable pain trailed down my cheeks, I sobbed silently into his shoulder. Abruptly as the embrace had begun, it ended, he ripped himself away, whipping the door open and vanishing into the hall. I fell forward into the door, it clicked shut, severing us. Inhaling deeply, trying to control my breathing, I wiped the tears away on my arm, setting my jaw_. I have a life. I have to go back to it._ Standing tall, I began my last day in the Opera Populaire, wondering if it still would be an actual life without him.

o o o o o

_You are a fool _and_ a coward. If you had told her, she might have stayed…No. _No_. Do not dare to believe that she would have changed her mind. Christine did not. Why would Gwendolyn? Such a fool…Even if she had changed her mind, she could not stay with you. What do you have to offer her? A life in a _dungeon_, practically Hell? She might have complimented you on it, but could not have believed it in her heart. It matters not. A creature of such beauty has no business in the darkness, she is meant to be seen. She is meant to have everything she has ever wished for. She has a life, family, friends. What do you have? _Nothing_. Hatred, fear, anger, now cowardice…You could not even tell her that you love her. _


	47. Will Have My Angel Again

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

47

"Will Have My Angel Again"

Her hands were sweating, she almost frantically reached for her husband. He turned to give her a concerned smile, taking her hands in his own.

"Darling? Are you well?" His gentle smile and loving concern made her feel guilty, ashamed of herself for acting like such a child. Summoning up all her will power, she flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Yes, of course. I tripped." It was a blatant lie, but as long as her husband wasn't aware of it, of her feelings, it didn't matter. _He will never know what is in my heart…_

Weeks ago, Christine had been asked by Raoul if she wished to attend the last performance of "Romeo and Juliet" at the Opera Populaire. Her first reaction had been complete astonishment, Raoul had often said that he never wanted her to go anywhere near the opera house again. Confused, she had asked him about it, her voice practically trembling. She had wondered at the time if he knew what he was asking, if he realized that he was asking her to confront her past, and perhaps, her future. He had laughed charmingly, holding her, soothing her. He had said that there was nothing more to fear, that the managers had written him a letter with the best of news. He could not know that she was not afraid, at least not of what he thought.

"Andre and Firmin were quite excited. It appears that their chief "Ghost hunter", one Inspector Fauvre, had received a letter from the Phantom himself, saying that he would turn himself in." Christine had been aghast, stammering in disbelief.

"But—but surely, he _must_ be mistaken! He—he would _never_ turn himself in, it is _impossible_!" Raoul had laughed outright at that, brandishing the letter he had received from the managers to her.

"No, you see it is true. It states," He said just as Christine's eyes roamed over the particular caption, "that our dear Phantom will turn himself in if the Inspector is kind to a certain worker." Christine's cheeks went hot, something was not right.

"A worker? Who?" Raoul waved his hand airily, folding the letter up again.

"Some woman...it did not say who. But what does it matter? The Phantom of the Opera—the demon himself—is giving up! _Surrendering_! Ahhh, I cannot _wait_ for the moment I can tear that mask from his face, reveal his hideousness to the world! To think how that monster _caged_ us, caged _you_, Christine! He will finally pay for what he has done! _He_ will be in the cage! We will _finally_ get our revenge!" He continued to laugh, Christine numbly backed into a chair. _My Angel…he is giving up? How can this be? Why? _Why_ would he do such a thing! For some woman! _Some womanIt cannot be

"_Lies_!" She had suddenly snapped, standing, cutting into her husband's revelry. "He would _not_ do such a thing! He could _not_! Not for _some woman_! There must be some mistake!" Raoul's eyes had darkened for a moment, he slowly strode towards his wife, each step with intent. Reaching her, he gently lifted her chin upwards, his eyes digging into hers in effort to read her.

"This upsets you, Christine. Why? Surely you do not—_care_—for this beast? For his fate?" She had realized her mistake, and widened her eyes, letting him see only fear. _Raoul cannot know, he mustn't!_

"No, dearest, no. It upsets me because he frightens me so. What if he is in league with this woman? Or what if she lies for him to get what she wants? How can the Inspector know it is indeed him?" Raoul had calmed, the intense look in his eyes giving way to gentle love, sympathy, adoration. He then softly stroked her cheek, kissing her lightly.

"You worry so much, Christine. Do not, you will see, we will capture him in the end. This woman does not matter. She is most likely his prey, just as you were. No one in the Opera Populaire is safe until he is put to justice." She had nodded, not at all comforted_. He would have given his life for me…and now he offers it for some other? Impossible! No! _She had agreed then to go to the Opera Populaire. Not to see the show, but to find out if it was true, if the Phantom, her Angel, was really giving himself up for the sake of some lowly worker woman.

After only a few weeks with Raoul, the "nightmares" had begun, now becoming more frequent and more vivid. Often, they depicted her in his caverns, Raoul pressed into the portcullis, the rope round his neck. Almost always, she had kissed her Angel, feeling a rush of excitement. But instead of releasing them, as he had done in real life, he had dropped Raoul's lifeline and lead her away, claiming her as his wife. Most times she woke up at this point, other times, the dream had continued into vivid passion, hours in her Angel's arms. Raoul had simply seemed to fade away, her dream self no longer cared about his fate.

Whenever she woke, especially after the longer version of the dream, she would first turn her eyes to the sleeping form of her husband, heart pounding. Cold sweat would run down her skin, but she was never afraid, never angry or embarrassed. The only fear she felt was that Raoul would somehow learn of her dreams, would be enraged. Mostly, though, she was strangely disappointed, knowing that it could not, would not happen. She would never seen her Angel again.

Alone in the manse, she had often analyzed the dream, each time only coming to a confusing and frightening result. She had been attracted to his dark energy, his powerful frame. But more than that, she had honestly cared for him, after years of his devotion and friendship. He had been her everything, the only person, or thing, that had truly befriended her over all those long years alone. It was this man that she knew, she had not known the man that had presented himself to her those last few months. Driven insane by loneliness and jealousy, he had tried to claim her, keep her. She had realized that. And she had known that she cared for him. And known that she wanted him back, no matter the cost.

Raoul loved her, she knew, but had responsibilities, obligations. He loved her, but had to work, oversee his land, oversee his various investments, and was ever the socialite. Christine was not used to being ignored, even if not on purpose. When he was courting her, he had given her his undivided attention. Attention that her Angel had spoiled her with, attention that she had come to expect. Once they were married though, he left her alone to long hours of boredom and loneliness in their home. He did not show her the passion that her Angel had, never once the devotion that he had given her, nor the friendship and understanding.

Now, stepping through the familiar lobby, one in which she had spent so much time, years of her life, she felt a certain sense of dread. She did not worry that her fallen Angel would carry her away, in fact, she felt dread in the knowledge that he would not. Dread that he no longer cared, that the last person who had believed in her, loved her, devoted himself to her, was gone. _He is mine, how could he forget me? How could he turn his back on me?? How could he _abandon_ me! It is this woman, she did this to him…She must have _made_ him forget me. How he cannot love me? _

She glanced up at Raoul, still clinging to him. His jaw was set in fierce determination, he was resolute in ridding her of her "demon". _He does not know that I come here not to help him, but to retrieve my Angel! He does not know of my betrayal…_She felt slightly bad about that, but she realized that she would without a doubt give up Raoul to be with her Angel again. She did not need Raoul's protection or money, her Angel would keep her safe and happy._ Once I rid him of this woman_. She ignored the fact that she no longer knew her Angel, if she ever did at all. He had devoted himself to her all those years, but she had never gotten to know him, to truly understand him. As her eyes swept the hall, she was set in the idea that she did indeed know him, and that all that he was revolved around her._ I _am_ his life. He cannot deny me, now that I accept him. I am no longer afraid! _She chided herself, clinging to Raoul, her eyes sweeping the entrance hall and Grand Staircase. _But he gives his life for this woman! I will prove to him that I care more for him that she ever could, I will have my Angel again!_


	48. Don't Forget Me!

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

48

"Don't Forget Me!"

I slipped once again into the green dress that I had worn the night I fell through the mirror. Since I found it in the costume room, I had hidden it under my mattress, with everything else. When pulling out the dress, I had taken out all the notes as well, burning them in my lamp mourningly so they could not be found. The dress felt strange, almost uncomfortable, I had grown used to the cut and weight of the full 1800's clothing. I tucked my feet into the once-painful heels that all the women wore here, they no longer hurt so much, but my feet were covered in evidence of the past pain I endured. I studied them for a moment, angling them in the soft lamp light. I had lost my strappy black heels the night of the "accident". _Well, hopefully no one at home will notice…_ I reached under my mattress to retrieve the only other belongings that would be useful to me, my purse and its contents. Then blowing out my lamp, I threw my shoulders back and strode purposefully out the door, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing.

- - -

The opera house was buzzing with commotion, typical for a performance night. Audience members were already flowing heavily through the front doors into the entrance hall, decorating the Grand Staircase with their elegant attire. My eyes roamed over the crowd, and almost irritably, I pushed through it, my nerves gathering and bunching under my skin. The plan was in motion, but I still had necessary goals to accomplish before I could relax. _Step one… get the new master keys from the managers…_We needed the master keys to be able to get under the stage, where Erik and I had planned for the "exchange" to take place. It was the only place that would be safe from the eyes of potentially hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. Everyone would be above, performing, preparing, but one could not access it in the middle of a performance as the only entrance was directly in the center of the stage itself. The only time one could access it was before, and after the show, and the intermission.

Once having Erik, the Inspector would be unable to do anything, take him away, until the end of the performance, lest he draw unwanted attention to himself by appearing on the stage in the middle of the show with thousands watching. Underneath, was a low-ceilinged prop room, with its own secret passage connecting to Erik's maze of tunnels. This way, I would get the mirror, the Inspector would get his Phantom, and I could disappear into the mirror, Erik would smash it to prevent Fauvre or anyone from following. Then, Erik would overpower and knock out the Inspector, no killing, and disappear down his tunnels. I knew he wouldn't be able to remain in the Opera Populaire, the Inspector would surely keep pursuing him. He knew it as well, but when I had tried to bring up the fact, he had merely said he would figure it out, and refused to talk about it any further.

Erik had a copy of _a_ master key, one that allowed him access to many rooms in the Opera Populaire. But since the new managers had taken over, some of the locks had been changed, the more important prop rooms, the rooms in which the instruments were stored, and their office. Erik told me he had never bothered to make a new copy, the old key worked well enough for his purposes, and he had always thought that if needed, he could just steal the newer one. Now it was suddenly needed, and he found himself unable to steal it, too many people and too much activity around the managers preventing the act in so little time. So, it had fallen upon me to somehow get the key. _Damn…How the hell am I going to do this? I guess I'll have to literally take it out of their pockets._ Shoving through the bands of nobility and upper crust, I was headed for the stage hall to seek out the managers. Brushing through, and completely concentrated on my mission, I croaked out in surprise when someone clamped down on my shoulder. Whipping around to confront them, my aggression dissipated when I recognized the offender.

"Raoul!" The young Vicomte chortled out a pleased greeting, taking my hand and kissing it delicately.

"Gwendolyn! I am delighted to see you!" I gave him a warm smile as he placed another kiss to my hand. A low gurgle sounded beside him, my gaze leapt over to the beautiful brunette at his side. He seemed almost surprised to see her, eyes widening slightly, spurting out his words in what must have been embarrassment.

"Gwendolyn, you have met Christine, my wife. Christine, this is the young lady I helped the evening of the—that evening. Gwendolyn Shepherd." Christine murmured a pleasantry, her round brown eyes never leaving me, inconspicuously narrowed. _She hates me, that's obvious._ _Well_, and I stared right back at her, hackles raising, _I'll just hate her right back. What she did to Erik…stupid skinny girl, I could just snap her in half!_ Our eyes locked in an unspoken contest of wills, Raoul broke the tension by speaking again.

"Gwendolyn, you look stunning! But I must confess that I have seen that gown before…" He grinned charmingly, and I ripped my eyes away from Christine to quirk a smile at him, shrugging. The gown still had its little rips and tears, I hoped they weren't too obvious.

"Well, it was laundry day." He didn't seem to entirely understand, especially that it was a joke, but let it go. Glancing around, he fixed me with a puzzled look, tinged with anxiety.

"Where is your husband? Surely he must be escorting you…" Remembering what had passed between them, I didn't blame him for wanting to know Erik's exact whereabouts. If left to his own devices, I wouldn't put it past Erik to try to squash the charismatic young noble, and I was sure that Raoul had gotten that distinct impression. I gave him a flippant wave, wondering that myself.

"Oh, he's around…somewhere. I'm sorry Raoul, but I simply must be going. I have some business to attend to before the show," My gaze slithered to Christine, who was intensely analyzing me. Showing her a bland, almost insulting smile, I pulled away from them. "Nice to see you again, Ms. De Chagney." It was of course a lie, it would have been nicer to me if she had spontaneously combusted where she stood.

She wore a light powder blue gown, her chestnut curls swept up magnificently, showcasing her graceful long neck and delicate shoulders. She was breath-taking, and as I stomped through the aristocracy, I felt distinctly inferior. _No wonder Erik was in love with her…Maybe it's a good thing I'm leaving. I could never compare to that. Ugh…_Though the words resounded in my head, they offended. Even if I could never be as gorgeous as Christine, I didn't want to leave Erik. He did deserve the best, but I wanted it to be me that gave it to him. Not her. Suddenly I froze, dead in my tracks. _Christine is here. She's _here_! What if Erik sees her! Oh my God!_ My attention sucked inward, the world around me faded out as I panicked. _Relax—relax! He said he didn't love her! That's what he said! But what if he does?! What if he still loves her! He would forget all about me, he would run off with her, I wouldn't get the mirror AND I would lose him! _I felt like I was hyperventilating, snapping myself back into full awareness. _Relax! Calm down! He knows she's married, he said he didn't love her…I have to trust him. I have to. I have to believe that he will choose me over her._ Despite my mental reassurances, my doubt and fear lingered, dread squatting in the pit of my stomach. _I _have_ to trust him. Please Erik, don't forget me! Don't lose interest…_

I forcibly shoved my doubts away, to hide in the back of my head. I didn't have the time to panic, the show would start soon. I wouldn't be able to hold them there forever, but more urgent matters would keep them away for a while at least. The managers were chatting away down the aisle with some of the audience members, laughing pompously. Scanning them, my eyes caught on the lustrous surface of a key, the flat end of one was sticking out of Firmin's jacket pocket. _I need to get close enough just to grab the keys…_Loping down the middle aisle, I stopped short when I saw Fauvre lingering, his eyes sharp on the crowd, sucking in every detail, not too far from where the managers stood.

My breath hitched, the last thing I needed was to be caught stealing by him, and hopefully before he saw me, I ducked down, crawling along a row of seats to the side of the stage. I must have been seen by at least some of the aristocracy present, but didn't much care what they thought of me. Sprinting up a side staircase to the backstage area, I glanced around. I needed the keys desperately, and spotting Kathryn and Nathaniel in the wings, a new plan began to form. _I need their help!_ Kathryn was helping him lace up his costume, trying to ease his nerves before the show began. The urgency of the situation pressed me onward, I doubted I would have ever said anything to them about my past if it wasn't absolutely necessary. _Time to be honest. I hope they believe me! _

Seizing them both by their elbows, I dragged them backwards into the shadows, wanting to avoid the other workers and performers, especially the Inspector. Kathryn gave a squeak of surprise and protest, I clapped my hand over her mouth. I didn't have much time.

"Gwen! What are you doing?" Nathaniel yanked his arm from my grip, I released Kathryn slowly. With an urgent need in my voice that I hoped they could hear, I rasped back to them, on the edge of panic.

"I need your help, it's really, _really_ important!" I could hardly see them, making out only their silhouettes in the straining light. They must have heard it, Kathryn's voice was thick with concern.

"Wha' do ya need?" I sucked in my breath, preparing to tell them the entire truth.

"I need you to get the master key out of Firmin's jacket pocket. The left one. Right now." They were silent for a second, perhaps stunned or attempting to give each other quizzical looks.

"Why?" I knew they would ask, but my time was running out.

"We don't have much time, so I'm going to tell you as quickly as possible. This is going to sound ridiculous and impossible and absolutely crazy, so please don't hate me. You don't have to believe me, but please, _please_ just do it for me anyway." I saw their outlines nod, so I continued. "I'm not from the United States, at least not from the United States now. I'm from the US in the future, over a hundred and thirty years in the future, actually. I know that sounds crazy, and now you probably think I'm insane just for saying it, but I _need_ the keys to get back a mirror that brought me to this time so I can get home. If I'm not able to go through the mirror, Fauvre is going to throw me in prison!" I spat out my words so quickly that they practically ran together, choppy and confused. I then awaited their responses, anxious, adrenaline pumping. They turned to look at each other, then to me, then back to each other. I bit my tongue in effort to keep from snapping at them.

"What happens in the future? Do I become famous?" Nathaniel's voice shattered their silence, I almost fell down with relief, choking out a deeply relieved laugh. Kathryn's figure elbowed him, turning to me, her voice dark and doubtful. Not that I could blame her, I wouldn't have believed it either.

"_Nathaniel_! Gwenny, are ya bein' serious? No joke?"

"No, no joke. The mirror is my only way home. I only came to this time, France, the Opera Populaire even, the night of the accident. Ever since, I've been trying to get back home. Fauvre is going to trade the mirror back to me tonight. During the show, under the stage. _That's_ why I need the key!"

"Trade you for what?" I knew the question was coming. _Now they'll really think I'm crazy. It doesn't matter now, I don't have the time to convince them otherwise._

"The Phantom of the Opera." They now both laughed, but I remained firm, lips pressed into a tight line. Their laughter died away abruptly when they noticed I didn't join in on the joke.

"Gwen—you—you are _serious_?" Nathaniel blurted, his voice catching, alarmed. I nodded. He fell silent, Kathryn picked up where he left off.

"'e…_exists_? The _Phantom_?" I nodded again, hoping they would recover from their shock more quickly.

"Yes. He's been helping me. Once again, I know it's crazy. But he wants to go through with it, to help me." Nathaniel was still silent, but Kathryn was audibly appalled, shouting.

"Bu' Gwen! Gwen, 'e's a _monster_! You canno' trust 'im!" I cut through her objection.

"Kathryn, quiet! He's not the monster, Fauvre is! Fauvre tried to attack me, Erik saved my life!"

"'Erik! _Erik!?'_"

"Will you just help me, _please_! This is my _only chance_!" Kathryn started to respond, giving another squeak, but Nathaniel interrupted, reaching out to grip my hands.

"We _will_ help you. Please do not be lying…or crazy." I squeezed his hands in response, feeling a rush of adoration for both of them. Flinging my arms out, I caught both in a tight hug, which was, only hesitant at first, returned. We never noticed a figure in the shadows with us, listening to every word we said.


	49. Angel

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

49

"Angel…"

The three of us left the wings, muttering between us.

"Right. Kathryn, Gwen and I will distract Firmin and Andre, you grab the keys. Firmin, left pocket. Ready?" I nodded feebly, glancing around the room nervously. Nathaniel took my arm, squeezing it briefly.

"Gwen, stop looking so suspicious. Be calm." I forced a wide smile to break across my face, beaming at everyone. We approached the managers, who were in a deep conversation with none other than Raoul and Christine. _Well, at least Raoul._ Christine fidgeted, her eyes darting around the stage hall rapidly. _She must be looking for Erik. Bitch, stay away from him, or so help me, I'll wring your scrawny neck…_The vehemence in the thought surprised me, I had never been possessive or particularly aggressive about anything before. But staring at Christine, I couldn't get past the feelings. We reached them, Raoul smiled when he saw me, bowing, and reaching for my hand. With one arm still tucked into Nathaniel's, I glanced over at Kathryn, who bent behind them soundlessly, as if cleaning and not affiliated with the rest of us. They took no notice of her, Firmin and Andre greeting Nathaniel and myself. It suddenly dawned on me why. Kathryn was dressed like she always was, low class, while Nathaniel was swathed in his costume, and I was wearing my green gown. _We look like high class, or at least important, people._ Raoul introduced us to the managers, who already knew Nathaniel. They continued their conversation, our presence not bothering them enough to change the topic.

"Everything is in order? The police are in position?" Raoul was demanding of the managers.

"Yes, Monsiuer Vicomte. Inspector Fauvre assured us that he had everything under control. He will have the demon caught and hanged before the night ends." Christine's eyes widened, fearfully glancing back and forth between them.

"Is he not to have a trial?" Raoul laughed brightly at that, patting his wife's hand.

"My sweet, dear Christine. No, only _men_ have trials. The Phantom is nothing short of a monster, and we can be _sure_ of his guilt. Do not worry, he will frighten you no longer." Watching the whole display, I turned furious, hating eyes on Raoul, who was still trying to comfort his wife. Christine looked miserable, and eyeing her, I began to doubt it was because she was afraid of the Phantom. _She looks more afraid…_for_ him._ The thought came unbidden, I wanted to believe that she was a mean-spirited, cruel, selfish bitch, who didn't care at all about the man who had only helped her for her entire life. _But her expression_…Andre broke me out of my thoughts, abruptly changing the subject.

"Madame Shepherd, I must confess, you look very familiar to me." Andre commented, brushing his lips against the back of my hand.

"Yes, Monsieur, we have indeed met before. At the gala." Andre brightened at that, going off on the glory that was the gala. I restrained myself from rolling my eyes, his mindless chatter irritating. Kathryn, who had been kneeling out of sight, suddenly reappeared, standing and sauntering away. Nathaniel and I locked eyes, he nodded imperceptibly, and we excused ourselves.

Nathaniel gripped at my arm, catching my attention as I shook with rage over Raoul's, to me, betrayal. We reached the wings again before he spoke.

"This _is_ happening, they are going to _catch_ the Phantom tonight?" I had almost forgotten he was there, and glancing up at him, I nodded.

"They're going to try. But they won't succeed if I can help it." Kathryn swung around a curtain, clutching the key in white knuckles.

"_Why_." She demanded, hands on her hips, not giving me access to the key until I answered her questions. I could feel her anger, her hurt, in that simple word, and feeling horrible, I tried to answer.

"So I can get home, I told you." She shook her head viciously.

"No, _why_ are ya 'elping the _Phantom_?! If 'e really does exist, he's a menace to us all! He's the enemy, Gwen, 'e's a _monster_!" It was my turn to shake my head, stepping forward to grasp her shoulders, to force her to look me in the eye.

"_No_. _No, he isn't!_ He's _changed_, and he's _good_, and he's _caring_, and he wouldn't hurt anyone! And as soon as I'm gone…he's going to leave the Opera Populaire. For good."

"How can I believe you! Ya've lied t' me all this time! _All this time_, Gwen! How—_how_ could ya do tha' t' me?" Experiencing a growing wave of shame, I hunched over, drooping.

"I'm sorry. _I'm so sorry_, Kat, both of you. I—I didn't think you would believe me, that you would think I was crazy and never talk to me again." I mumbled, despairing.

"Well, yer right abou' the crazy, anyway…" My eyes lifted back to hers, she was smiling, weakly. "I jus' don't see how ya go' t' know 'im, Gwen. _The Phantom of the Opera!_" I smiled back at her, she had gotten over being angry, and now was mildly impressed.

"He saved my _life_, Kathryn. From Fauvre. More than once. And I just…got to know him. That's why I trust him." She stared at me levelly, but then her eyes abruptly widened.

"Tha' man—the man you were talking about! Before!" She gasped, I gave her a slow nod, a little embarrassed. She now knew all of my secrets, even that I was in love with him. Nathaniel missed it all, coming back into the conversation from glancing around.

"What?" We ignored him. Kathryn smiled, new understanding shining in her eyes. I stepped back, opening my hand for the key. She pressed it into my palm, closing my fist around it, still clutching my hand. Her eyes became worried, and she glanced over at Nathaniel, who spoke.

"What comes next?" I crossed my arms over my chest, considering. Then, meeting his eyes, I began to fill them in to the rest of the plan.

"We're meeting Fauvre under the stage, and the trade will happen during the intermission. I'll go through the mirror, and Erik will escape. That's it. Now, I have to go."

"We will come with you," Nathaniel started, Kathryn nodding vigorously.

"No! No, you can't. If Fauvre knows that you were helping us, you'll go to jail for the rest of your lives. You can't come." Kathryn looked rebellious for a minute, and then conceded.

"Fine. But if ya need us, we will be righ' 'ere." I realized then that I was saying goodbye to them, and swung an arm around both of them, pulling them into another hug in the crooks of my elbows.

"Thank you both so much, I know I wouldn't have survived this if it weren't for you," I muttered at them. Kathryn had started to cry, and as I pulled back, she wasn't ready to let go. The audience had begun to roar, soon the show would begin, and I had to get ready. Nathaniel gently unwrapped her from me, I gave him a flash of a smile out of thanks.

"Good luck, Gwenny." She mumbled, turning to cry on Nathaniel instead of me. I whispered my goodbye, and then left to go look for Erik. The goodbyes had been extremely painful, and it was difficult to refocus on the task at hand. I ducked out of the stage hall in search of Erik. After a good half hour though, I still couldn't find him, he wasn't in any of the normal places. Deep down, I knew he wouldn't be, I was just hoping to have a little more time with him before I left.

I was afraid, a familiar fear that had dominated much of my recent life at home. Erik, though, countered that fear. Not because he himself was reassuring, most of the time he wasn't and hadn't been, but because I had to stand up for myself in front of him, I had grown to believe more in myself. I'd had to, and now every time he was around, I was reminded of that strong person. I needed that reminder now, as well as his support and comfort. _He could be in his lair, preparing to leave the Opera Populaire for good…_I returned to back stage of the theater, my thoughts still churning on Erik. _Where will he go? He's so talented, he could get any job, really, but his face…The mask would always give him away, prevent him from living with people. And even if somehow others could get past it, _he_ never could._ Seating myself in a far corner, I felt entirely disheartened. I had a life to return to, but Erik didn't, and most likely never would. _Erik_…

More thunderous applause broke into my thoughts, I quickly realized that Act One had ended_. Intermission. Oh God._ Adrenaline began to pump through my system, heart racing, palms sweating. _Relax Gwen, relax! You can do this! You have to!_ I stood, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress. As the actors quit the stage, flowing around me into the wings, I silently said goodbye to the Opera Populaire. Then, head held high and key in hand, I strode to the center of the stage, unlocked the trapdoor that lead to underneath the stage, and dropped inside.

o o o o o

Christine felt faint. Her husband and the managers were going to hang her Angel! _I must warn him, I must stop this!_ She still feared him, but over the past months she had felt a growing longing to hear his voice again, to once again be urged to sing for him. She had realized that she still felt a sort of loyalty to the man, whether Angel or Phantom, that had tutored her for so long, he had become too important to her throughout her life for her to just forget him.

Now, as they spoke of killing the very man to whom she had recently felt so loyal, she began to panic. Her life was with Raoul now, she knew it, but if she could somehow just reach him, just warn him…_Maybe he will take me back._ _Become my loving angel once more. He has to, I am his everything!._ It was a fleeting hope, a ridiculous one, she knew, but couldn't help it. Then that awful redheaded woman had shown up again with one of the actors, smiling, but her eyes had given away much deceit. When Raoul had said the Phantom was to be caught and hanged, the woman's eyes had become alarmingly cruel, filled with intense hate, reminding her distinctly of the very same look her Angel had given the young lord in the past. _Something is happening. She knows something! This woman has been in the Opera Populaire, the night of the disaster. And she is well acquainted with the actors…Could she—could that _harlot_ be the woman my Angel is _sacrificing himself_ for? _Impossible_, how _could_ he? This woman is trash, filth! Just see the hate in her eyes, the lies behind them, she must be trying to harm him! I _must_ warn him!_ The woman and the actor had shortly left, excusing themselves. Christine's eyes remained on the redhead, delicate anger and distrust overwhelming her senses.

"Raoul, darling, I believe I saw Meg over there. May I speak with her before the show?" She asked innocently, widening her eyes at him. He softened immediately, smiling at her and running his fingers lightly through her curls.

"Of course, dearest. Just stay in sight, no wandering off now," She had nodded in agreement, having no intention of actually keeping the promise. Heading towards the stage, and slipping behind the curtain, she made her way through the back room to the doors that lead to the halls. Holding her beautiful gown aloft, she began to run towards the dormitories. Arriving at her destination, she knelt before a pair of white, carved, double doors, listening to see if anyone was still inside. Determining that the current lead soprano was out, she let herself in. Though it had been mere months since she had been in her old dressing room, it had felt more like years, the room had changed completely in her absence. The one thing remaining, though, was a large golden gilt mirror that hung on the wall, and as she approached it, her fingers found the latch that opened it to the passages beyond. _Please be there, Angel. And please forgive me, I have grown so much since we last parted…_The mirror sliding open before her, she stepped into the passage she had gone down before, hand in hand with her Angel of Music.


	50. She Is Not Perfect

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

50

"She is Not Perfect"

Erik was pacing before his organ, indecision ruling his thoughts and actions. _Where will I go? I cannot possibly stay here…Damn that girl! And damn myself, I fall in love again only to once again wound myself! I am a fool, I have completely lost my mind over her._ He ran his hands lovingly over the keyboard of his organ, one of the few things in his life that had been constant and forgiving, always understanding, always bringing him peace and pleasure. _I shall miss this place…_He grit his teeth in a fierce grimace, collecting his music, a newly written opera with the lead a beautiful, but altogether different soprano than the one he had written for in the past. _But not as much as I will miss her. Her crackling wit, vibrant laugh, understanding eyes…forgiving heart. I will never receive any of those gifts again, not from another human being._

He shoved his music, only his most precious, into a carrying sack, adding to it several pieces of clothing, and all of the money, millions of francs that he had collected over the years. He hesitated, pulling the money out and replacing it in the chest he had kept it in, and shoving it back into its hiding spot. _I will start again, I want nothing from this place. Nothing to remind me of her…I will never get to experience this bounty that I have harvested, never get to share it with another…it is useless to me now. If she could but stay with me, I would need nothing else, want for nothing else…_Bitter, crushing sorrow enveloped him, he groaned aloud with the pain of it, cringing into himself_. No more. No more…_

Getting himself under control, he promised himself that he would have his breakdown later, release all of his grief when Gwen was gone. _She still needs me, I must be in control. _He glanced up at his clock, he only had a few minutes before he was to meet her in the room beneath the stage. Throwing the sack over his shoulder, he went to his gondola, stepping inside and pushing off from the bank. Taking a last glance back, he bade farewell to his home of the past fifteen years.

Arriving on the bank, he stepped off of the gondola, slinging his pack once again over his shoulder. A barely audible click, like the softest of footsteps, caught in his ears, he spun towards the direction it had come from. If it weren't for his brilliant eyesight, he would have never seen her, the slim, willowy figure of the brunette beauty that had very nearly destroyed him. A gasp caught in his throat, leaving him speechlessly silent, rigid. Every cell in his body froze at the sight of her, back here, back in this place, with no one but him.

"A—Angel?" Her voice, the same voice that he had been so in love with, rang out, clear, soft, as if nervous. The same words she had spoken a thousand times before, tremulous and tender. _Angel…Angel…She calls for her Angel…_He couldn't form words, his mouth worked gapingly, his brain completely blank with utter and complete shock. _Angel…_She called out again, fearfully, reaching out for someone, for him. _She calls for her Angel, she calls for me! _He felt like his heart had stopped beating, his senses flared into a heightened state, his breath caught in his throat, stunned to the very core. Never had he ever expected to see her again, not in Paris, not in the Opera Populaire, never here. Never looking for him. Never wanting him. But she was, glorious, beautiful, perfect Christine, the Christine he has devoted his life to, his inspiration and world, his angel of music.

She called out once more, he tried to respond this time, only choking out a guttural grunt, his mind seemingly frozen solid. Her head lifted towards the sound, curls bouncing over her slight shoulders, eyes widening. She approached him, reaching out in the pitch, even in the darkness looking stunningly beautiful. Most of her hair had been pulled back, into an upsweep, a few tendrils hanging down, her powder-blue gown enhancing its rich color, and her porcelain skin. A light blush stretched across the porcelain, her lips a captivating pink. Her eyes, the same deep cinnamon that had so enchanted him, stared into the darkness, searching. _She is so very beautiful, just like I remember her…_He stood still as stone, taking her in. She looked as beautiful as she always had, innocent, trusting, calling out to him. _Calling to her Angel…I am her Angel…_He took a step towards her, she was so very familiar…

Then he paused, something didn't make sense. Her lower lip trembled, a slight movement that had enraptured him before, now it did nothing. The way she batted her big, brown eyes no longer inspired. When she nervously touched at her curls, a gesture she always did when she was upset, he wasn't moved to praise her, to worship her. Even as she stood before him, calling out to him, wanting him, needing him, he felt nothing. It was something he had dreamt of nightly, wanting her to want him so desperately he had literally gone out of his mind. Now, though, he felt deadened, heavy, uninspired.

Continuing to take in her features, things he had never noticed before, flaws, caught his eye. She was too thin, scrawny almost, with a flat chest and hardly any hips. He had thought at one time that she was the epitome of feminine beauty, that she was all grace and poise, delicate and perfect. _She is not perfect._ The realization struck him to the core, Christine, formerly his Christine, the love of his life he had thought, was just a girl. She looked like a child to him, lacking the development that an adult woman had. He saw too easily her weakness, her fear, her selfishness, and her immaturity in all senses.

Unintentionally, he compared her to Gwendolyn, who was very much Christine's opposite. Gwen seemed fearless, grown up, and while she had experienced pain that still hurt her occasionally, perhaps even held her back, it had also forced her to mature and continue on. He remembered the first time he had even seen Gwen, how he had looked on her with contempt for not looking like Christine. Over time though, he had come to realize and appreciate her different beauty. He had fallen in love with her different beauty, her strength, her will, everything Gwendolyn. Unlike Christine's soft, fragile grace, Gwen was fierce, bold, strong. She was not shy or delicate, rather striking, with vibrant coloring that matched her temperament. She was not classically beautiful, like Christine, but a rather unconventional, unique, exceptional beauty. Everything about her radiated, and Christine, he saw now, paled in comparison. He smiled then, to himself, momentarily forgetting about Christine completely. _Mon églantier…_

"Angel, are you there?" At the sound of Christine's voice again, he snapped out of his thoughts, no longer enraptured, no longer hers, only angry. Looking at her again, he felt nothing of the worship and pure adoration he had felt only months before, only a blinding fury and deep, boiling contempt. _She dares—she _dares_ come back here after what _she did to me_! What could she _possibly_ want but to use me again, _to use me and leave me! NO!

"_What are you doing here,_ _Christine_?!" He hissed, seething, trembling with rage. She winced back, afraid, cowering somewhat, and gasping. _Just like she always did_. _She fears me even now. She is only a child, a selfish, spoilt child that has been given everything she has ever wanted. And still wants only more. _She reached out, unable to see him, trying to clutch at him. He pulled away, feeling violated, disgusted at the thought of her touching him.

"Oh, Angel! Please! Do not be angry with me, I have only come to warn you!" Utter surprise momentarily overcame his anger, he let out a harsh bark of a laugh.

"To _warn_ me? My dear child, whatever about?" He sneered, she trembled slightly. _Gwen never trembled because of fear of me, she did not ever cower._

"They—they are planning to capture you, to _hang you,_ tonight at the performance! You must not attend!" He snorted then, brushing past her_. I am done with her. Enough of this. _

"Do you think me a _fool_, Christine? Of course I know what they plan!" She pelted around him, standing in his path.

"But—But Angel! Raoul said you are—are _sacrificing yourself for a woman!_ You must _not_, she will _betray_ you!" _Never. Gwen would never betray me! _Her comment stung more than he thought it could, the fact that she could still insult him so deeply only irritated him further. _Gwen is nothing like Christine, they share no trait in common. _His anger, hot and irrational, cooled, his mind focused on Gwen. _I let Christine irk me once again, no more of this. I must help Gwen, I have no time to waste on this child._ Straightening up to his full, intimidating height, he bore down on the girl, tears starting to pool in her eyes. Then, using the commanding tone he had taught her with, he spoke, coldly.

"Leave me, Christine. The only person who has ever betrayed me is _you_, I have no reason to believe your words." She began to cry now, like she always did.

"But Angel…_please_…" What little patience he had was now gone, she knelt in front of him, beautiful and pathetic.

"No, Christine! There was a time I would have given everything for you, _everything_! But you left me, left me here to die. I have found someone who can _truly_ love me for what I am, even if I _do_ have to sacrifice myself. You would not understand that, you _never_ have. Now, _leave me_, I do not have time for this! I must get to the stage!" He barked at her, his voice like blades of ice, giving away the rage, hate, and hurt he had been nursing since she had left. She whimpered as he strode by her, leaving her alone in the darkness as she had once done to him.

o o o o o

It was pitch black, the only light streaming in from the cracks in between the planks of the trapdoor. Just as Erik and I had planned, I blindly stepped backwards into the storeroom, until I hit some objects behind me. Then I waited, the door was unlocked, and the Inspector would be with me soon. Erik would be waiting behind his secret door for the moment to come forth, handing himself over to the Inspector. I wondered idly if he was there already, having seen or heard me enter. A light noise, like a foot scraping against the floor sounded, I glanced around in vain for the source, hoping desperately it was Erik.

"Erik?" I whispered into the blackness, but received no response. _It must have been nothing, he's not here yet._ I chewed at my lip, all I could do was wait. It wasn't long before the show began, literally above me. I could hear everything, the voices, the footsteps, the props being moved, that happened above me, but could see nothing. It was freaking me out a little, it put me on edge. The thought that at any moment, the act would end, and Fauvre would walk down to greet me also wasn't comforting. Masses of people began to move overhead, heavy grumbles of prop pieces being wheeled across the stage sounded as well. I couldn't see a damn thing, but followed the direction of the sounds with my eyes, knowing that soon, very soon, the trap door would open_. It's intermission._ Anxiety crashed down around me, I had calmed somewhat during the act, but now I was terrified, hoping, praying that the plan Erik and I had concocted would work and that no harm would come to him. When another sound, even lighter than the first occurred, I leapt at the hope that it was my ghostly rescuer.

"Erik?" I still received no response. _It's not him! Where _is_ he? He should be here by now!_ Light abruptly burst from above yards away, I could see a heavy silhouette clomping down the stairs. _Oh my God, he's here!_ He hefted a large, rectangular figure with him as well, I knew it to be the mirror.

"_Erik!_" I hissed into the shadows, he absolutely needed to be there. Another light broke my shield of darkness, I squinted towards it. Fauvre had lit a lantern, lifting it above him so he could see me. The light highlighted every wrinkle, discoloration, and flaw on his face, his grin was crooked, malicious. I took several steps backward, although I had seen the man many times, he seemed even more hateful.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Shepherd." His oily voice cut through the commotion that sounded above us. He scooted the mirror around him, lifting the cloth to brandish it. The nasty smile hung on his lips, eyes glinting, sharpened on me. "Your mirror, as promised. I have fulfilled my end of the deal. Where is yours?" I tried to remain placid and cold, sheer will preventing me from trembling out of anxiety. Eyeing him as blankly as I could, I shrugged.

"He is always around, Inspector. I assure you, he will make his presence known when he feels ready." The nasty grin that had split the Inspector's face pinched into a vicious scowl, his face a mask of ugly displeasure.

"If this an attempt to play me a fool—" He began, nostrils flaring with his vehemence.

"It isn't! Of that you may be sure." My voice, though strong and confident, almost commanding, gave away none of the dread that was boiling over in my stomach, my breaths shallow and tight. "He will be here." _Please, Erik, I need you! _The Inspector reached into his pocket, withdrawing an object that gave the lustrous glint of metal in the dull lantern light. He held it up further, waving it slightly. It was a pistol. The smile stretching lazily across his face yet again, his black eyes fixed on me, intent.

"I sincerely hope for your sake, Mam'selle, that you are correct."


	51. I Am Here

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

51

"I Am Here…"

Christine panted to herself, forcing herself to remain calm. _He has left me, abandoned me…_Her shoulders still shook out of the blinding, freezing fear and mortification at her Angel's words. She hadn't been able to really see him, at most a mere outline. But even as that, the outline had been incredibly familiar, it used to dog her steps, whisper songs into her head everywhere she went. _And now—now…he never will again. He hates me. My Angel…hates me._ The anger in his voice, the depths of pain that echoed within it, frightened her more than what he actually said.

When she had first fled him, she had only seen a fraction of the emotion he held within him. But even in the smallest of quantities, his intensity had overwhelmed her, the very strength of everything he felt was just too much. _I could never feel anything like that, to feel so strongly that it engulfs me._ Instead, she had settled for puppy love and affection, not the end-all, overpowering love that he had once offered. _Now that love is for another. What was always mine he has given to someone else._

Surprised by the hurt the thought carried, she sank back into the wall, still trembling. _He is gone forever_. _My Angel...he is no longer my Angel, he is someone else's Angel, that despicable redhead's Angel! He cannot leave me! _She knew that when she left him, it was over. Forever. But until now, until _he_ had rejected _her_, she had always somehow felt that he was there for her to fall back on, a safety net. Sniffling, she stood, dashing tears from her eyes. _He said he had to get to the stage. The stage…that is where the woman waits for him, that is where he gives his life. If he could only see that I still feel for him, he would return for me. He will attempt to give his life for her this evening,_ _but I will not let him._ Lifting the folds of powder blue, she scrambled up the pathway, determined to save her Angel from himself and his "love".

o o o o o

"Nat!" Kathryn bellowed over the crowd, her head bobbing above it as she leapt up, trying to see over the masses of people for Nathaniel. "NAT!" She shrieked again. She had been terrified ever since she had seen Gwen disappear below the stage, without anything to defend herself with, without even a light. _She's going to wait for Fauvre underneath that stage all alone in the dark_…She had been on edge the entire evening, keeping a watchful eye on the trapdoor during the entire first act, only leaving it when she absolutely had to_. She is waiting for Fauvre and the Phantom, _Fauvre_ and the _Phantom_, she is going to get herself killed!_ Wringing her hands, she kept to the edge of the stage as the first act ended. The operafolk swarmed into the wings, the trapdoor was now accessible behind the lowered curtain. And then, hefting a large, rectangular object under his arm, Inspector Fauvre crept to the trapdoor, pausing before it. Digging into his pocket, he partially pulled out another object, it's wooden handle visible to the ever watchful English woman. _He has got a gun! Gwen!_ It was then she had dashed into the wings, thrusting around the performers for Nathaniel.

"Kathryn?" Nathaniel's bewildered query rose above the din, she couldn't see him yet, but he was nearby.

"Nat!" She shoved through the bodies towards the sound of his call, throwing herself at him when she spotted his distinctive costume. Gripping his forearms in a vice-like grasp, she broke into flurried speech. Eyes wide in alarm, he tried to calm her down enough so he could actually understand her.

"Kat—Kathryn! I cannot understand you when you talk that fast, why are you so upset!" Deliberately slowing herself enough to get out her message, she repeated herself.

"I saw the Inspector! Nat, _'e's got a gun! 'e's gonna shoot Gwen! _We have t'_ help 'er! Now_!" He gasped slightly, and then seizing her hand, began to shove through the crowd to get to the trapdoor.

o o o o o

He pelted down the passage way, knowing that the woman who could, who did, care for him waited. _The woman I love…_He reached the hidden portal, a piece of the wall that would pull in and slip aside, giving him access to the room under the stage. Gingerly sliding the wall panel back, he slipped into the room, his eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, found them immediately. Stunning, sudden fear causing him to lurch forward, Gwen was backed against a wall, the Inspector grasping a pistol aimed straight for her. _GWEN!_

"It occurs to me that I have gained another bargaining chip, Mam'selle. The Ghost's life for yours. You had best summon him now, I am not a patient man." Fauvre's voice slimed out, but despite that, Gwendolyn gave no reaction, not even flinching as her life was threatened. His insides spoiled at the sight, but he couldn't help feeling proud of the way she remained calm, composed. _If I had arrived only a moment earlier—damn you, Christine! My beautiful, brave love, I _will_ save you!_

They were obviously unaware of his presence, focused on one another. His mind worked furiously on how to extricate Gwen and her mirror from the situation without either being injured in the process. _I cannot simply walk up to him, he will surely shoot me and still take what he wants, my Gwendolyn. He will _not_ have her! _Recovering from his initial shock and fear for her, a murderous wrath began to drown his senses, such that he hadn't felt since…_Since I nearly hanged that fool Vicompte. I must calm down, I cannot help her like this!_ Though his fingers itched rabidly with the need to wrap around the Inspector's throat and squeeze the life out, he restrained himself, knowing that mindlessly attacking would only get him killed, and would do nothing to help Gwen. Sudden light from above distracted him, his thoughtless, immediate reaction to shrink back into the darkness. Two sets of footsteps sounded on the stairs as two shadows pelted down them, their shapes indicating a man and a woman.

"Gwen!" The English woman's voice snapped out, strained and breaking. The Inspector swung around, his pistol now pointed at them.

"Good God!" It was the lead, Romeo. He tripped backwards, the pistol only inches from his face. Gwen stumbled forward, reaching out to them.

"Kathryn, Nathaniel, _get out of here_!" But the Inspector's voice rang out over hers, a tight growl.

"So you invited these _fools_ to help you, Mam'selle!? Well, they are worth nothing to me, and you must see that I am indeed serious!" His arm snaking out in the flickering lantern light, he snatched Kathryn's arm, jerking her forward. She gave a startled cry, Nathaniel tried to stop it, stop him, shoving into the Inspector. Seeing that he was momentarily distracted, Erik stepped forward, only to have Gwen brush past him, pelting towards the Inspector. With an enraged grunt, she rammed into him, knocking him backward. He hauled Kathryn down with him, and the three of them wrestled on the ground, each trying to get at the gun. Nathaniel dove onto him, but received an elbow to the face, tumbling backwards.

Overpowering the two women, Fauvre thrust himself to his feet, gun still in one bloodied hand. With a powerful kick, his foot collided with Kathryn's stomach, she rolled back, landing heavily on the floor. With a final swing of his hand, he smashed the pistol into the side of Gwen's face, knocking her to her knees. Then he embedded his other hand into her hair, dragging her forward savagely. The English woman and her companion could only stare, partially dazed from the pain, as the Inspector dragged Gwendolyn backwards with him, into the areas the lantern light barely touched. Gwen let lose a pain-laced moan as he ripped her up to her feet by her hair, leaning in to whisper brutally into her ear, pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple, his finger slipping around the trigger.

"Where is your Ghost to save you now, Mam'selle?" He never felt the thin wire drip around his throat. In absolute silence, Erik stepped right up against the Inspector, leaning to his ear so his barely audible whisper could be heard.

"_I am here_."


	52. Better For It to Just Be Me

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

52

"Better For It To Be Just Me"

Christine was late making it back to her seat, emerging from the halls into the lobby. She had barely thought of Raoul since going off to search for her Angel, but when she saw him, gripping the lapel of a police officer, she panicked.

"I will ask you again, sir! _Where is my wife_!"

"Raoul!" She hustled towards him as fast as her skirts would allow, he whipped around.

"_Christine_!" Throwing his arms around her, he crushed her against him. "Christine! Where the hell were you! I thought—oh God, _I thought_—"

"Raoul, I am so sorry! I wanted—I wanted to see my old room and—" He hunched in front of her, unraveling his arms to clutch wildly at her shoulders, leaning forward to stare into her eyes.

"He did not—you did not see _him_, did you, Christine!? _Did he hurt you_!? Oh, God!" She wasn't even able to respond, he grabbed her to him again, squeezing her as close as he could. Planting her palms against his chest, she shoved him away, he stumbled away, blinking in surprise. "Christine, wha—"

"Raoul, listen to me! The stage! They will be on the stage!" Raoul's brow wrinkled in momentary confusion.

"What are you talking about, Christine? There is a performance in process, only the performers are on the stage!" It was Christine's turn to be confused, she pursed her lips, her mind reeling over what her angel had said. _Get to the stage…The stage. Nothing could happen during the performance, he would not show himself…but he was rushing, he said he did not have the time! They must be—_ She gasped, eyes rounding as it dawned on her.

"They are under the stage! He has passages, passages that lead everywhere! Surely he has one under the stage!" Raoul stared at her, trying to make sense of her outburst.

"The Phantom—he is under the stage? _Now_?" She reached out, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him towards the stage hall.

"Yes! Right now!" Wrapping an arm around her waist, he didn't wait any longer, jostling her through the doors. Bursting through them, the Vicimpte and his wife scanned the stage hall, the audience was standing, spread about the room, chattering excitedly to each other.

"It is intermission," Christine stated, eyeing the red velvet curtains that blocked her view of the stage. Raoul took her hand, drawing back her attention.

"Come, we will inform the managers and they will tell the police. As soon as the police are rallied, we will storm the room, even if we have to stop the show. Capturing this menace, this _man_, is far more important, all of these peoples' lives are at risk until we do." Christine allowed herself to be pulled along behind him, knowing that he was wrong. _If he is really allowing himself to be captured to help that—that _woman_, then he is no threat to these people. She is the one that must be captured, she is behind it all, not my Angel! I will stop them, I will free him, and he will return to me! _

o o o o o

The digging hand in my hair spasmed, releasing me. I staggered back, away from the man who had just nearly killed me. Blood was oozing down from somewhere on my scalp, it trickled along my cheek, soaked through my hair. Moaning, all I could really understand was the pain, and I tripped backwards, my heel catching on something. I landed hard on my back, confused, trying to make sense of what happened. _He let me go…_The thought drifted idly through my mind, but I knew it wasn't true, it couldn't be. The man, the monster, had been about to but a bullet through my brain, some unnamed force has stopped him. I scooted backwards, away, only knowing that I had to get as far as I could from him. Lifting my dizzy gaze to meet the Inspector's form, I watched in blank confusion as he floundered, tearing at his neck, the gun on the floor. He was making strange squawking noises, scratching frantically at an invisible noose. Trying to escape his attacker, he lurched forward, drawing his foe into the light. I heard a tiny gasp from behind me, and even in my state of drowsy confusion, knew who was hindering the Inspector.

"Erik…" His name slipped from my lips, my eyes resting on the black mass that made up his shape. The only thing that the light could really settle on was the white half-mask, even his skin was dim compared to it.

"Oh, dear Lord, Nat…_It is really_ _him_…" Kathryn's voice, muted and awed, sounded behind me, I turned to crawl towards them. Nat wrapped an arm around me, checking my head.

"Gwen—you are hurt—" I ignored him, my eyes stuck on Erik, his face turned, allowing more light to hit it. Now, I could fully see him, his vicious, maddened grimace blending in with the severe, frightening scowl of his half-mask. His eyes blazed from behind it, teeth grit in a deadly snarl. The Inspector gakked again, ripping at his throat as the slender, almost delicate, Punjab lasso wrested the life out of him. I felt sick, knowing it had nothing to do with my head injury. Erik, his eyes still crazed, leaned in to whisper something into the Inspector's ear. Fauvre now was completely red, tears streaming down his cheeks, his movement less animated. _He's dying…_

"Erik!" I heard a voice cry out, it took several seconds to realize it was my own. It was like he didn't hear me, twisting the noose only tighter. "Erik!" I screamed again, struggling to my feet_. No, no, you can't, you can't…_He was falling back into the same madness that had caused him to kill before, a madness he had been so afraid to become lost to again. _I promised that I would help him never have that happen to him again!_ Dragging myself over to them, I pawed at his hands, trying to get him to release the dying man. "Erik, Erik, please, don't! Don't kill him, you can't!" He still didn't see me, my hands shot out and gripped his face, wrenching it around to see me. He let out a vicious snarl, cloudy green eyes glazed over with hate. "Please…" I ran my fingers over his jawline, over his cheek, through his hair. His gaze bore into me, searching, still saturated with madness and bloodlust. And then they widened, horror, realization dominating. I cried out in relief as recognition flooded them, understanding dawning. He gaped, eyes now wide and almost afraid.

"Gwen." He flung his hands away from the Punjab lasso, Fauvre, hands still at his neck, dropped straight to the ground, writhing slightly, and then went still. Erik stared at me a moment longer, and then his gaze dropped to his hands, expression riddled with disgust and horror. "I—I—did not see—could not—Gwen! Forgive me, I did not—" With an exclamation of utter relief, I leapt at him, squeezing my arms around him in a tight embrace, my hands running through his hair and along his neck.

"It's ok, it's ok. You beat it, you beat it, it's gone. I won't let it take you, I promise, I promise." I murmured into his ear, he shuddered against me, realizing fully what had happened.

"He was hurting you—I was so angry...I wanted him to suffer so—_horribly_—for what he did to you..." His voice was a breaking whisper, nothing of the smoothness that it normally had remained. I squeezed him even tighter, wanting to comfort both him and myself. He buried his face into my neck, his fingers raking through my hair. They paused on the blood, he tensed.

"Gwen, you are hurt—" He was cut off by another question, Kathryn's voice.

"Is—is he still _alive_?" Her voice was a horror filled whisper, her eyes wide, aghast. I swiveled around to glance at her, she was clinging to Nat just as tightly as I was to Erik, her fingers digging into his back. He was holding her as well, a brutish bruise already forming from where Fauvre's elbow had connected. Erik released me, kneeling beside Fauvre, gloved fingers pressing into the side of his neck to get a pulse.

"Yes, he is merely unconscious." He rumbled, his lulling baritone rich with near disappointment as well as intense relief. Kathryn was shaking, realizing how close to death we had all been just moments ago. I left Erik to go to her side, she dislodged from Nathaniel only to throw her arms around me, pulling me into a choking embrace.

"Oh, God. Gwen…" I tried to comfort her a little awkwardly, hugging her back. Her head, buried into my shoulder, lifted so she could lock her eyes onto mine. Then, they turned on Erik. "'e—'e really _exists_—that's the _Phantom_—"

"He was the Phantom, Kathryn. He isn't anymore, he just wants to be left alone." I defended him, but also wanted to reassure her that she was in no danger. That none of us were. Erik eyed us, Kathryn and Nathaniel especially, not at all pleased with showing himself in front of them, but realizing it was absolutely necessary. I stood then, almost forcefully pulling myself from Kathryn's arms. I wanted to return to Erik's, but made myself walk past him, to the forgotten mirror in the corner. Lifting it so that it stood upright, I crouched in front of it, pressing my palm against the cool, clean glass. I ran my hands over the gilt frame, ornamented with the very same carvings as mine at home. _It's time, it's time…_My mind pelted me with urgings to leave, to escape, while I still had the chance. To leave everything behind and return to the life I had known before.

But my eyes swung back to the glass, staring now at the dim figures within it. Furthest from me were Kathryn and Nathaniel, embracing again, but their eyes fixed on me, watching with a combination of confusion, curiosity, apprehension, and slight hurt. Fauvre's deadened body lay in front of them, his neck now displaying the evidence of near strangulation. My gaze then flicked to the darkened figure looming above him, Erik, who had stepped further back into shadow. Unlike Kathryn and Nathaniel, he wasn't watching me, his gaze cast mourningly at the ground, the emotion in them hid from me in the darkness. He held himself rigidly straight, keeping his imposing stature. The few rays of light that the lantern still cast touched at the white half-mask, illuminating it. He seemed completely expressionless, emotionless, monotonous and blank, uncaring and entirely indifferent. And somehow, that was more painful to me than if he stood there sobbing and begging. My gaze finally shifted to the largest figure seated in the framed glass, myself. I was scratched and scraped, my clothing tattered and grimy. My freckled skin was caked in an exoskeleton of dirt, my hair slick with blood and sweat. My square jawline and bold cheekbones were punctuated with cuts and bruises, greasy hair in struggling curls hung over them. Only my eyes were the same, at least in shape and color. The grey-blue remained, but the way they were brightened and strong, direct and challenging, even after everything I had gone through, that was different. It didn't even look like me, I was a different person. As I stared at myself, partly enthralled and partly repulsed, a voice, a different voice, split the darkness, jolting me from my trance.

"Admiring yourself? I must say, dear Gwendolyn, you have looked better." My eyes darted to a new reflection, and my breath froze within my chest. A man stood behind Erik, pressing Fauvre's pistol into his temple. Erik's eyes, which had been hidden from me before, now had light cast onto them, his face grit into one of outrage.

"Who—" I started, whipping around to place the new figure. He strode forward, keeping the gun thrust against Erik's head. Light splayed across his familiar face, glazing over his soft, young features; features I had thought were so innocent, sweet and kind before.

"Graham!" The name tumbled from my lips, made purely out of shock. He smiled, the very same sweet smile he had given me so often before.

"Gwen. It is a pleasure to see you again, and your husband. Though I confess, I thought you had better taste." _"He is a bounty hunter, Gwendolyn!"_ Erik's shout of rage rang in my head, I hadn't wanted to believe it, so I chose not to. Here he was though, a pistol against the head of his quarry. I began to shake, not out of fear, but of sheer fury, my muscles jumped against my need to remain motionless, but all I really wanted to do was charge him, tackle him, and rip him to pieces. Keeping the gun set on Erik, He crossed over to me, lifting the mirror under his arm. He strode back towards Erik, the trapdoor stairs behind him.

"What do you think you're _doing_, _Graham_!?" I screamed at him, feeling his betrayal like a puncture wound. He clucked his tongue at me, shaking his head.

"I am taking the mirror, I heard it has quite…interesting…qualities," He dug the tip of the pistol back into Erik's temple. "Also, I am collecting my bounty, Gwendolyn. I should think that was obvious. When I heard you discussing your plan with your friends here," He waved a vague hand towards Nathaniel and Kathryn. "I knew I had a golden opportunity. I had but given up, it seemed like Fauvre finally had succeeded when he reported the letter he had received from the Phantom to the managers." The statement broke through my rage, it didn't make sense.

"_What letter_?" He smiled easily, a quirked grin with glittering eyes.

"You really were unaware?" He chuckled pleasantly at my obvious ignorance, my eyes darted to Erik, who was staring intently at me. "Well, your 'husband' here sent Fauvre a letter, promising to turn himself in so long as he gave you the mirror and left you be…How very strange, for a Phantom…" His attention turned to Erik as well, mild interest playing on his face. "Why did you send it, Monsieur? Did you truly believe he would harm her? Why would you _care_?" He probed, playing with his prey before killing it. Erik only stared at me, his eyes pleading.

"_Gwen_…" My name slipped through his lips, reinforcing the plea in his eyes.

"Why did you do that, Erik…?" _He—he was actually going to turn himself in! He said he wasn't—he said…as long as Fauvre didn't hurt me…_His eyes were shifting on the floor, his upper lip curled into a growl.

"I heard him. I _heard_ him, Gwen. After you told me, I watched him constantly. He meant to—hurt you—take you. I could not _let_ him, I wanted to _kill_ him—but he had the mirror. I, therefore, wrote him my last note, making a new proposition, one that he would not—could not—refuse. He had been suspecting that you were lying, Gwen. He would have killed us both…eventually. _Better for it to be just me. I love you, Gwendolyn._" My eyes burned with new tears. _He loves me._

"Well! How very charming! The infamous Phantom of the Opera has decided to go noble all for the sake of some street trash. Beautiful street trash, indeed, but street trash none the less." Erik's fists balled, relaxed, and then balled again as he tried to contain his fury. I watched him, almost in amazement as he stored the hot rage away, waiting, waiting for the right time to release it. Then he unexpectedly gave a cruel chuckle, turning his head slightly so he could stare down at Graham.

"Street trash, Monsieur? If she is street trash, what does that make you, as you were unable to attain her?" I laughed outright, a sharp bark of shared cruelty, mentally praising Erik on his cool head and cooler jibe. Graham, however, didn't see any humor in it, seething. He abruptly shoved Erik forward, cocking the gun to fire. But before he did, a low groan issued from the floor. It was so unexpected, that Graham swung his head around, focusing on Fauvre. The Inspector moaned again, and then lurched up, fingering at his neck. At the very same moment, a pounding like rolls of thunder waved over us, the second act had started again and a swarm of ballet rats had taken to the stage. The noise and the wakening Fauvre startled Graham, he thrust the gun towards Fauvre's form, but his eyes kept darting above as a new series of deafening stomps overtook us.

"Graham! Put the gun down! Stop this!" I started to shriek at him, my voice was joined by the demands and pleads of Kathryn and Nathaniel, who had been watching the whole time. He had apparently forgotten about them, he swiveled to glance at them. Erik was the only one that remained silent, but as the lamp light began to flicker with all the air moving around us, he grew only more imposing, becoming part of the blackness that enveloped the room. The whole situation delved into chaos, I watched as Graham, whose cocky arrogance had shifted into growing anxiety, shot fleeting, panicked glances around the room, trying to aim his gun at all of us at once. As he tried to frantically figure out how to control the situation, Fauvre suddenly climbed to his knees, and standing, lurched towards the new threat.

"You_--_will _not--_take_--_my_--my case--_you_--_sniveling, cowardly_--_impertinent—" Even so close to death, he had somehow found his voice, it choked, ragged and harsh, above the commotion of all the rest of us. If the situation hadn't been so explosive, so threatening to myself and those that I cared about, I might have laughed at him, it might have been comical. Now surrendering to panic, Graham shoved the gun at Fauvre and fired, cutting the Inspector's voice off again. The sound of the gunshot burst out of the room beneath the stage, a hundred screams rang out above us. Fauvre rolled backwards, clutching his stomach. He let out a horrible screech, gripping at his stomach, eyes boggling at the blood that began to seep from the wound. Graham was apparently as surprised as we were, stumbling backwards, dropping the gun. Terrified shrieks sounded above, the ceiling that was the stage rumbled with the sound of pelting feet, scurrying from where the shot had come from. As Fauvre fell backwards, still crying out, Graham's last nerve failed him, whipping the mirror under his arm, he spun on his heel and fled up the stairs to the trapdoor. With his unnatural speed, Erik followed, blasting past us. Graham flipped open the door, the light broke into the room, revealing the shining pool of blood that Fauvre now wallowed in. Shooting a backwards glance towards Kathryn and Nathaniel, who were still huddled against the wall, bleeding and in shock, I dashed up the stairs in pursuit.


	53. I Didn't Tell Him

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

53

"I Didn't Tell Him"

It had been on pure instinct that he had followed the bounty hunter up the stairs, the man had taken Gwen's salvation. He had acted without thinking, and as he reached the top step, light, brilliant and blinding, flooded around him, saturating his senses. He squeezed his eyes against it, floundering, having never been in such bright light after a lifetime of thick darkness. Stumbling backward, partially blind, he heard the gurgled screams and ear-piercing shrieks of thousands, every gasp, every breath, every hiss of fear and anger. The light burning his eyes, the garish reaction from the audience suffocating his finely tuned ears, he clutched at his head, trying desperately in vain to block it all out. He never knew the fist was coming, crashing into his face. It knocked the mask loose, it hung on, but just barely. Cracking an eye, he was able to blurrily see another coming, dead set on his face, on his mask. This time he ducked, throwing himself out of the way. Graham, expecting the collision, fell off balance, wobbling. He righted himself, turning away to flee again, still clutching the mirror.

All of Erik's senses were on fire now, and though the possibility to allow the madness take over threatened, this time need dominated, control dictated_. I need it for Gwen, she must have that mirror! It matters not what happens to me now!_ He shoved away everything else, the uproar that had surrounded him, the hate and fear that, like always, enveloped him. Graham bolted across the stage, the mirror thrashing about dangerously. _He will destroy it!_ Any reservations he might have had left about being watched by thousands were dashed away with the thought, saving Gwen's mirror was the only thought that remained. With a loping pace, he followed the bounty hunter as he struggled to get off the stage into the audience, flinging himself at him and grabbing him by the ankle. The young man heaved forward, nearly landing on the mirror as he did_. No!_

Graham kicked wildly, trying to disentangle his masked pursuer. Clinging to his leg with a vice-like grip, the former Phantom began to "climb" up the other's body, Graham beginning to shriek in terror as well. The audience, though he didn't notice, were clawing to get away, grasping, screaming, clambering over each other to escape him, the horrifying masked ghost that murdered people and would stop at nothing until his bloodlust was sated. As he grew closer to the young man's face, Graham began to screech even more and thrash frantically, fearing that his time left on earth was coming to an end. His screams were so deafening, that he barely heard the other voice that joined the uproar.

"_Erik! Erik!!_" It was Gwen's voice, her soprano abnormally clear, standing out. He lurched over his shoulder, keeping his grasp on the bounty hunter, to look at her, watching her pelt her way up the stairs, her eyes, like so many of the others around him, terrified. But her terror, he realized wasn't of him, she didn't fear him, she feared _for_ him. Graham under him, he firmly seized the frame of the mirror and ripped it from the other's grasp, winging it around towards her. But when he opened his mouth to respond, to call out to her that he had saved her, saved her mirror, a gunshot slashed through the frenzied air, deadening all that heard it, the movement becoming suddenly so still, time itself seemed to stop. A small army of police officers made the only movement in theater, jogging down the aisle straight for him, the eyes of thousands locked onto them, not breathing. And in the dead center, four more figures ran with them, the two managers, Firmin and Andre, the Vicomte, attempting to lead the charge, and, shoving to get to the forefront of the crowd, the Vicomtesse, Christine.

o o o o o

"Angel! _Angel!_" Christine gripped at Raoul's shoulder, desperately trying to get around him, to get to her Angel. He lay sprawled across the stage atop an absolutely petrified young man, looking at none other but the redhead, struggling to get up the stairs. He didn't hear Christine's calls, wasn't even facing her direction until one of the idiot police officers shot off his rifle, aiming it for her Angel. Horror and wrathful anger blended, she tore at the fool's shoulder, now hysterical in the effort to get to him before anyone else did, before they shot him, killed him.

As she drew nearer, he turned to watch them, their twisted parade that would be the cause of his death racing down the aisle towards him. He had taken the mirror from the young man, who, seizing his opportunity, wrestled away from his captor, wriggling away until he rolled off the stage in effort to escape. The redhead had leapt towards the mirror, bending over it, her hands running over it energetically. Christine forced herself to look away from the greasy, dirty woman, focusing instead on her Angel, who now had seemed to realize what was happening. He sat up, his victim gone, alone, thousands of eyes stabbing at him in revulsion and fear. Christine didn't see them, only her poor, lonely Angel, abandoned by the cursed redhead, who he had thought was his love.

"Angel!" She ran to him, reaching out for him, knowing that she could sooth away his pain if he would only let her in again. Distant shouts from a familiar voice—her husband, perhaps—fell on deaf ears, her only thought was of her Angel. But as he stared, recoiling into himself with strangling horror at the thousands of eyes, the redhead moved again, leaving the mirror to rush to him, kneeling by his side. To Christine's absolute shock and freezing dismay, she flung her arms about him, and he did the same. _No! No, No—_

"No, NO!" She ran to the stage, dashing around the pit to the staircase that gave her access to the pair. "Angel! Stop, what are you doing!" She bawled, knowing that tears were now streaming out of the corners of her eyes. They were holding each other, frantic whispers rushing between them. Unable to believe it, and unwilling to truly understand it, Christine launched herself at them, at the redhead in particular, slapping out, scratching, screaming in her fury and denial. The redhead gripped her slashing arms, trying to wrestle her away, but Christine sunk her finger's into the other's greasy hair, ripping with all of her might. The redheaded bitch let out a shriek, planting her palms onto Christine's chest and shoving her away. Christine stumbled away only to right herself and charge again. She could not stop herself in time to dodge the redhead's fist, aimed straight at her face.

o o o o o

My fist slammed into Christine's lily white cheek, colliding with such force that we both were thrown off balance. Christine let out a God-awful screech, tumbling away, hitting the wooden planks of the stage with resounding force. My fist stung with the impact, but it felt sickeningly good, I laughed outright even as I hit the planks myself. Erik's voice broke through my laughter.

"_Gwen_! What in the nine circles of Hell do you think you are doing! Get through that mirror, now!" His hands grabbed at me as he tried to heft me to my feet, turning me away forcibly as I glanced over my shoulder, still laughing at the howling Christine.

"Christine!" Raoul's voice called out, panicked, concerned, confused, and angry. Whipping back around over Erik's shoulder as he tried to drive me to the mirror, I caught the young Vicomte's expression, he had run to Christine, who was still wailing, her eyes locking on me and Erik. As much as I now disliked him for what he tried to do to Erik, I could understand his pain, his confusion. He _must_ have realized that Christine had not rushed to the stage to harm Erik, but to save him from me, to regain him for herself. He had watched as his wife, the one he had risked his own life for to save her from Erik in the past, had forgotten him, forgotten him in order to get to Erik, to return to him.

My thoughts were blurred, all I could really concentrate on was Christine's breath-taking beauty dissolve as she shrieked at me, at Erik. _My Erik! All she does is break hearts and crush people, she doesn't care about them at all!_ Wanting only to rub it in her face like a petty child, I flashed her a cruel, haughty smile, unable to contain my contempt for her. I didn't see the police officers swarming the stage, aiming their rifles for Erik's form, as he still struggled to get me to the mirror. We reached the mirror, and he whipped it upward, thrusting me towards it. I resisted, suddenly seeing Christine shove herself off of her feet and pelt toward us again. I didn't understand what was happening, I thought Christine might try to attack me again, try to somehow take Erik away from me.

"You will _not_ hurt him again! I'll kill you first!" I bellowed at her, tearing at Erik's shoulder to get past him, to defend him from the venomous Christine. Erik, though, deliberately tripped me, I stumbled, trying to right myself. My arms wheeled, and I could do nothing but watch helplessly in limbo as Christine leapt at Erik. But to my absolute and sheer amazement and surprise, she spun on her heel as a gunshot rang out, waving her arms to the policemen beyond, attempting desperately in vain to get them to stop.

Suddenly, there were too many screams ripping in the air for me to make sense of, Christine's as she tried to stop them from shooting Erik, Raoul's as he tried to stop them from shooting Christine. The managers' as they tried to regain control. Erik's as a bullet bit into him, he fell off balance, pushing me further into the mirror. A thousand screams from a thousand voices of the audience, the performers, the musicians as they watched, abhorred, aghast. He turned to look at me, wide cloudy green eyes laden with not fear, not hate, not anger, only pure, simple adoration. Even as he fell, he loved me. _I didn't tell him I love him—_I heard my own voice as I cried out for him, watching him fall even as I did. And then my scream was the only one.


	54. Just A Story

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

54

"Just A Story"

"Gwen! Gwenny, honey! It's ok, it's ok, we're here!" Tight hands clung to my shoulders, the voice speaking familiar but far away. Adrenaline surged through my veins, my breath ragged, every breath felt like sandpaper. I gagged, choked, reached out and found a warm hand take mine. My eyes opened a little, cracked, the bright lights over head burned at them, I grimaced in effort to shut them. Feeling the warmth on my hand, thinking of the bright lights of the stage, I called out the only name I knew.

"Erik? Erik—" I hacked out of the dryness in my mouth, but forced my voice to strengthen. "Erik, what happened? They—they shot you, Erik!" My eyes burst open, despite the scalding light, suddenly terrified that he had been hurt. As they focused, though, the figure that came into view, the figures, were not Erik, none of them.

"Gwen, honey, it's alright, we're here." It was the light alto of my mother's voice, thick with concern. I felt a squeeze on my hand, and glanced down at it with widening eyes, trying to understand. The hand wasn't Erik's, it was my mother's. The people that crowded around my bed, an unfamiliar bed, were not the operafolk, none of them from the Opera Populaire. _My—my mother, my family…I'm home. I'm home! _I sucked in a strangled breath, overjoyed and cripplingly disappointed.

"Mom, I'm home, I'm _home_—" She smile, shushed me gently.

"No, honey, you're at the hospital. We all are, we're here to see you." My mind scratched at the concept, it didn't make sense.

"No—what? The hospital?" She reached out softly to run her fingers over my head, in my hair, like she always did to comfort me. The gesture, though, only reminded me of Erik, I had done the same thing to calm him. The memory was so strong, I felt like I could almost fell his hair run through my fingers, smell the scent of him. I wanted to see him, to hold him again, so badly, I just couldn't accept that I would never be able to. It seemed impossible, like at any moment, he would stride in to the room, as graceful and intimidating as he always was, swathed in black cloth, cloudy green eyes that could be so full of malice, full of joy, love. I wanted him. Now. Here. With me. "Where's Erik?" I choked out to her, my mind still vehement, desperate to see him. To know he was alright. My eyes were already watering, she wouldn't have an answer for me. _She doesn't know him, no one does. I'm home…_My mother just shook her head, her fingers slipping down over my cheek.

"Honey, Gwenny, I don't know who you're talking about." Physical pain had begun to grow in me, a steady ache in my head, a throbbing pain in my back, my extremities. It couldn't compare with the other pain that cut into me, the realization that Erik was gone, I wouldn't see him again. The water in my eyes shaped into tears, they stung as they fell_. I'll never see him again…I—I never even told him that I loved him…he didn't know, he'll never know…_I groaned aloud, pain spilling out of me. My mother and the people around me must have thought it was from my apparent injuries, my mother stood and commanded that someone call the nurse_. Erik, Erik…He's gone, he's at the Opera Populaire—the mirror—I must have gotten through—Erik!_ My anguish only flourished, I frantically gripped at my mother's hands as she stood.

"Mom! Mom, please, how—how did I get here? What happened!" Alarmed, she shot another glance over her shoulder, demanding someone get the nurse immediately.

"Can't you see she's in pain! Dammit! Someone get the nurse!" Her gaze swung back to me, her eyes softening as they darted over my face. "Gwen, sweetheart, at the party, you fell. You fell into your mirror and it cut your head. You knocked it over and it fell on you—" _What? No!_

"I didn't fall, I was pushed! Jonathan—he attacked me!" That wasn't my only problem with the story. "Mom—Mom, that happened _months_ ago! I've been gone, I wasn't here! I fell through the mirror, I—" She shushed me again, pressing her palm to my forehead, her eyes tearing up at the sight of my tears.

"No, Gwen. You _were_ pushed, Jonathan _did_ attack you. I hoped—I hoped you wouldn't remember. You were knocked unconscious and you didn't wake up, honey. You—you _didn't wake up._" Her voice crackled and broke, I could see the real fear in her eyes. Astonished, because my mother hardly ever cried, I tried to mumble reassuring words. "You've been unconscious for _three days_. It's the 22nd of October."

"The 22nd? Of October? _2007_?" My mind felt like it was unraveling, like I was coming apart at the seams. It didn't make sense, it couldn't. I had been gone for months, months I had spent with Kathryn, Nathaniel, Erik. She stroked at my head, wiping the tears away.

"Yes, honey. It's the 22nd of October, 2007. How do you _feel_?" I ignored the question, my mind working feverishly over the date. It would be impossible to explain how I felt, everything I believed was real was wobbling, unsteady. Though I rejected the thought immediately, it still came, again and again. _Could—could none of it happened? It wasn't real…? No! It happened, I remember, I was there. I was in 1870, in the Opera Populaire with the Phantom of the Opera!_ The more I thought it, to reinforce my surety that it happened, the more I began to doubt that they had. _It—it wasn't real. It was all a dream. It didn't happen…But—but Erik, I love him, I still love him. How could I love him if it wasn't real...? _I ground my teeth out of furious frustration, the pain, the confusion dominating me completely. Cold hands suddenly began to press against me, poking at my head, neck. They broke me out of my utter mental absorption, I snapped my eyes up to glare at the offender. The nurse had apparently entered to inspect me as my mother wanted, she busied herself with feeling my pulse, checking my head, my stats. I grit my teeth at her, annoyed and bitterly angry. I wanted abruptly to only be alone, for everyone to stop watching, stop staring. My resentment overcame me as she tried to inspect my eyes. My anger bubbled over, I recoiled away from her, shouting for everyone to get out. They all looked startled, and casting me astonished glances with boggled, bewildered eyes, strode out. My ire wasn't sated, I glared daggers at the nurse.

"You too." I growled at her, she blinked at my rudeness, and then with an air of indifferent dignity, quit the room. Only my mother remained, looking quite shocked. My eyes swept over her, I wondered roughly what she was staring at.

"What?" I snapped, fighting to sit up. Like the nurse, she blinked at me as well, her mouth working a little before a response came out.

"Gwen, you—you just _yelled_ at all of those people." I thought for a minute that she was saying that I was being rude to my family, people who were only there to care about me. I felt a flash of guilt, but then, my mind still analyzing her statement, I realized that wasn't what she was saying at all. I never yelled at people. I never got angry, or at least never showed it, I just took whatever was given, was a complete doormat. _I—_and I let out a blank squeak. _I've changed. I'm not the same. What happened to me? I just yelled at them, I didn't care what they thought of me, I didn't care if I rocked the boat or upset anyone. I don't care if I offended them. I really don't give a shit. That's not me…Not here. It was me there, at the Opera Populaire, but not here. _I started breathing harder, visibly upset._ I couldn't have been there, it was a dream. A hallucination after all. It had to have been a hallucination…_Another memory struck me, I sank into it, trying not to lose myself within it. _"…I figured I had just hit my head and this was all some crazy hallucination." I had smiled at him, trying to joke with him. His posture remained rigid, he was slow to respond, and when he did, it was cold, blunt. "I assure you, mademoiselle, this is no hallucination." "I bet you'd still say that if you were a hallucination. Please, call me Gwen."…_My mother distracted me then, offering an explanation, seeing the blanched expression on my face.

"You're just not feeling well, honey. It's ok, no one blames you." It didn't concern me anymore, I shoved it away to obsess over later.

"Mom, what happened to Jonathan?" The question suddenly occurred, I needed to know. Her face folded into a grim scowl.

"No one saw what happened, we only heard the crash when the mirror fell on you. He was really frightened, he was rambling. He said you tripped and fell into the mirror. He kept saying crazy things, and when we lifted the mirror off of you, it was obvious that the mirror wasn't the only thing that caused your injuries. You had hand prints on you, bruises…bruises that the mirror couldn't have caused. Your dress was torn, you were covered in dust…" She sighed, looking saddened. "He was so mixed up that the police arrested him, he couldn't even give us a straight story." She reached over to grip my hands again, squeezing, her eyes despairing. "I'm so sorry, honey, I'm _so sorry_. I didn't know, none of us knew what he would do. _In our own home_…" She started to cry again, and my anger, my frustration, my fear, my sorrow all dissipated, briefly. I opened my arms to her, she pulled me into a fierce embrace, squeezing so hard I nearly lost my breath. But even in her arms, I nearly lost myself to another memory, Erik and I holding each other on the stage, in front of the entire audience. _Erik was the last person I hugged…if it was real. _"We're going to take you home in the morning, honey. You'll stay with your father and me—" I shook my head against hers.

"No, no. I've been gone from home too long. I want to go home." She accepted it, standing to leave.

"It's late, and I have to drive your cousins home. We'll come back in the morning, don't worry." She paused at the door. "I love you, Gwendolyn."

"I love you too." She left me then, and I thought on the words, feeling crushed and crumbling. _I love you, Erik. I love you. Why didn't I ever tell you...You told me you loved me…God…Now he's gone. He could even be dead. He was shot, God, he was shot…I don't even know if he's alive! No, stop thinking that he was alive. He wasn't. It's a story. Just as story. You read only a while ago, it might feel like months, but it hasn't been. Only three days…I've been unconscious for three days, only three days._ I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to. Tears threatened to leak out again, I rubbed vigorously at my eyes, cutting them off at the chase. _Get over it, Gwen. It's not like you've never been hurt before…_


	55. I Created Him

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

55

"I Created Him"

_My God…_He had been beaten, burned, stabbed, whipped, and suffered many other forms of physical abuse in his lifetime, but as he lay stunned on the ground, he swore to himself that being shot was the worst. Mentally swearing, he wrested himself to his knees, trying to forget the pain, to dull it by sheer will. Clutching at his shoulder, he felt his blood seep through the glove. Considering all of the places he could have been hit, he was grateful.

Christine was slumped in front of him, her arms wrapped around her head, she shook with fear. _So very like her. Even with the pistol right at her head, Gwen did not react at all. _Realization then hit him like a bag of bricks. _Gwen!_ He had fallen into her body, throwing her further off balance. He had seen her as she fell, as he fell, checking to make sure she was alright. _But I did not see what happened to her!_ Twisting urgently around, his eyes darted for her, to find her, to help her. _She—she is not here. She must have gone through the mirror! My God—it actually worked. She is gone—she is gone! Gwendolyn!_ He scurried on hands and knees over to it, groping at it, ignoring the biting pain in his shoulder.

It had happened too fast for him to even really notice. He had seen her falling, and it never occurred to him that she could pass through, that he would never see her again_. I—I will never see her again. She is gone, gone forever…Oh…Gwendolyn…_He hunched over the mirror, releasing his shoulder, the blood now freely flowing, unhindered by his hand. Pushing is forehead against the mirror, like he had rested it so often against Gwen's forehead, he felt nauseated, beginning to shake. _Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, she is gone, she is gone…_Hot tears trickled down his cheeks, through the eyehole of the white half-mask. His sobs were so wracking that he never heard the shallow bumps of Christine's palms against the wood as she crawled to him.

"Angel? Angel, please…" She whispered, her glorious voice crackling with despair. She lifted a light hand to his shoulder. "You really loved her…you really loved her, Angel." Her voice was even weaker, but still audible over the thunderous commotion in the opera house to his keen ears.

"Christine." His voice broke as well, raw emotion overwhelming him. "Christine, I am not your Angel. Leave me. Leave me to die." She shook her head vehemently.

"No, Angel, no! I will not leave you, I will save you!" She tried to wrap her arms about him, but he shrugged her off, her touch repulsive to him, the very same touch that he had killed for only months earlier. He whipped around to glare at her, to give her the full force of his most furious, hate-filled, terrifying stare.

"No! Christine, you foolish girl! You cannot save me, you cannot help me! Go back to your husband, you must! I cannot give you what you want, not anymore! Leave me! _Now_!" Her face, tear-stained and red, was still beautiful. He barely saw it though, still trying to frighten her away with the intensity in his voice and eyes. She broke the eye contact, her brown, doe-like eyes blinking rapidly, tears still falling. Then, bringing her eyes back up to him, spoke, in barely a whisper.

"If you love her, you must follow her."

o o o o o

"Here we are! Home, sweet home!" My mother trilled, trying to be positive enough for the both of us. I was unable to sleep the night before, a heavy melancholy settling within me as I debated if I had actually been in 1870. Debated if the love of my life had actually existed. _It's probably just in my head…_I sighed, ignoring her oppressing sunniness. "Do you want some help getting inside?" She turned in her seat, facing me, her expression apprehensive. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"No, mother, I can walk just fine."

"…But there're stairs." Her brows drew together in worry. I gave her a fake smile, hoping to reassure her so she would quit bothering me. I wanted only to be left alone.

"I'll be fine, I promise." I got out of the car, throwing my shoulders back and walking confidently just to show her. She stuck her head out of the window, still not ready to release me.

"I'll call you tonight! Answer your phone!" She bellowed at my retreated form, I waved airily and went into the building. Despite my mother's fears, I climbed the stairs perfectly well, making it to my apartment easily. Normally, the stairs winded me, at least a little. Now though, I felt fine. My first thought was that it was all my work at the Opera Populaire, I was officially in shape after months of back-breaking labor. _It didn't happen Gwen, maybe you're still on the painkillers. _Unlocking my door, I strode into my apartment, enormously relieved and inexplicably happy at the sight of it. _Home…_

Even if my time at the opera house hadn't happened, it still felt like it did, it felt like I hadn't been home in months. I wandered though, delicately touching items I realized I had missed. Finding all of the technology I had, I turned it all on, the TV, the radio, my computer, all the lights, all blaring and insultingly loud and bright. Dropping onto my couch, I sat for a moment, trying to absorb it, to remember how I had lived with all of the conveniences. _We didn't even have hot water at the Populaire…No, no, it didn't happen. Stop thinking it did._ I fidgeted for a moment, and then decided that everything offended, and getting to my feet, I turned it all off again. Continuing my tour, I came to my plants, cringing. They were limp, flattened, dead. Suddenly depressed at their demise, I ran some water over them, and, flipping up the blinds, set them into the sun, hoping to revive them.

I roamed into my room, actually crying out in relief that it was still there, intact, how I had left it, and real. I ran my hands over everything in the room, since my "journey", I was having issues in determining what was real, what existed. I had felt it, I had lived it, I had survived pain and anguish, had enjoyed laughter and love. The memories were so vivid, too vivid. But my rational side, my logic, told me that it was impossible, it couldn't happen. It was simply more realistic that I had hit my head, gone unconscious, and dreamed the whole thing, waking up to really believe it had happened.

I lurched down onto my bed, feeling emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. I had spent all night mourning my loss of Erik, the perfect man I had created, the dashing hero in a fantasy that I had imagined out of my own loneliness_. I created him, I made him up because I missed Josh, missed company, missed someone who loved me, and who I could love as well. _The explanation didn't feel right, it didn't seem to fit, but seemed most logical.

I leaned back into my pillows, shifting to get comfortable. Something stuck in my back, I reached under me to extract the obtrusive object. Holding it into the light my window provided, my breath caught. It was my book, "The Phantom of the Opera". I suddenly felt physically ill, wanting to heave. With a bitter, pain-filled cry, I flung it away from me, hating it. The book was gone, but my memories stayed, overtaking me. Curling into a sickly ball, I began to cry silently, finally letting out all the emotion I had been struggling with since I realized he was gone.

- - -

"Tah-dah!" My father grinned at my broadly, holding up probably the last thing I ever wanted to see besides my Phantom book. His fingers were wrapped around he gilt edge of my mirror, brandishing it proudly, shifting it back and forth so I could "admire" the new glass. It had been cracked, I remembered all too well the shards that had dug into my back as Jonathan shoved me against it. My father, unable to otherwise express his grief, or so my mother said, had replaced the glass. "So she will have it when she wakes up, I know how much she loved it," my mother had said had been his words. I wasn't sure if I believed it, I was closer to my father than my mother, but had never known him to be really sentimental. But he had fixed it none-the-less, and was now giving it back to me.

I pressed my palm against the glass, wondering. _It must have still been whole enough for me to get back through…No, Gwen. Stop._ I couldn't stop, though, the unbidden thoughts that were still embedded in the belief that it happened, that I had been there with Erik_. Erik…_I tried not to glare at the mirror, now hating it as well, a constant reminder of a dream in which everything had finally felt right to me. I instead smiled at my father, wanting him to know, at least, that I appreciated his effort. He set it aside, I gave him a tight hug to express my thanks. He and Mom visited for a while, Mom wanted to know that I was alive and well, getting enough to eat and enough rest. That I wasn't "pushing myself too hard".

I hadn't taken her seriously at first, but she had been sincere, actually calling my work and the school to let them know what happened, and taking a few days off for me. I didn't want that at all, feeling that the best way to get over my dream and dream man was to get back into work and school, and to be just too busy to think about him. I had tried to call work, telling them I was fine, but Dr. Murphy informed me he had express orders from my mother not to let me come back to work this week.

When they finally left, I went back to my mirror, seating myself before it on the floor. Tears threatened again, I leaned forward to rest my forehead against the glass, somehow feeling that if I did this, I could feel Erik again, just beyond the pane. The tears loomed ever closer, I tore myself away from the mirror before they surfaced, grabbing the mirror and tucking it under my arm. Shuffling with it, I shoved it into my closet, never wanting to see it again.


	56. Changed in a Good Way

Hey guys! Just thought I'd leave a little note for everybody who has read this far :D. Firstly, THANK YOU! Haha, it really means a lot to me that you are not only reading, but commenting. The best thing you can do is to leave a review, they're extremely helpful for picking out flaws, inconsistencies and issues that I might have never thought of or seen. Sounds cliche, but they really do help authors (or at least me) grow. Special thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far, especially the ever-loyal Mominator, haha. This is the beginning of the end, folks. I hate to say it, but after this chapter, there are only three left to go...tear. I hope you have enjoyed it so far, I know I had a wonderful time writing it. I think I'm going to load the remaining chapters once a day, just to not drive you crazy, haha. I know suspense kills me, and I detest waiting a long time for the next chapter to be loaded. I've been pressured on Deviant Art to write a sequel, so yes, I am writing one. It won't probably be posted for quite a while, simply because I'm a student and only occasionally have the time. This one was written mostly over the summer, it's finished, I'm only posting each chapter. But, just to let you all know that it will _eventually_ be coming :) . Anyways, if you have any questions, comments, silly dances, feel free to tell me, and I'll most likely write back. Haha, but no, I won't tell you what happens! Thanks again, everyone, and on to chapter 56!

MissCyraf

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

56

"Changed in a Good Way"

"Hi, Honey!" My mother's voice chirped into the phone, I withheld a groan. She had asked me during their visit if I wanted to have dinner out tonight, to "get me out of the house". It was only the second day I had been home, but already my mother was worried that I was spending too much time indoors. I had informed her curtly that if she hadn't of called the vet office and school, I could have been out and about all day, but she only responded that those things would cause too much stress.

"You need to go out into a relaxed atmosphere, some place you feel safe." It was ridiculous, I was completely past the Jonathan incident. It had hardly sunk in that it had only occurred a few days before._ It feels like so long ago…And I've changed so much since then. I'm a completely different person._ It had slowly come to me why I was attacked, not only by Jonathan, but by Faurve as well. I had looked like prey then, I had been fearful and meek, cringing away from people in my effort to hide from them. Even though all that I had thought I had gone through at the Opera Populaire didn't actually happen, I still felt like I was changed by it, strengthened. I could stand up for myself, I was confident in who I was, even if worried about my lingering love for a nonexistent man._ I'm different, and I won't ever be anyone's target or prey again. _

My mother had originally wanted me to come to their house, but my father vetoed that idea, saying that I it might take me a while to become comfortable in their house again. I didn't know if he was right or not, to me, it had felt like months since the incident had happened. I wasn't sure if being in their house would freak me out or not. But my mother had agreed, and it was decided, without my input, that we would go out. Now, exactly five minutes till seven, my mother called to tell me they were five minutes away. I was already at the restaurant, having taken a cab, and was rifling through the menu and wine list. I didn't have much of an appetite, I hadn't had much of one at all since getting home. _Since leaving Erik…_I scowled to myself, beating at my forehead with my palm. Stop. Feeling slightly sick, I once again told myself he didn't exist and that I made him up, and lowered my head into my hands.

"Gwen? Honey? Are you alright?" My parents had apparently arrived, my mother rushed to me, gripping at my shoulders.

"I'm fine, Mom, just tired. Take a seat." My father had to usher her to the opposing seat, my mother leaned across the table to press the back of her hand to my forehead.

"I don't think you have a fever…" She mumbled, worrying at me. I pulled away, slightly irritated. I didn't want to be touched.

"I don't have a fever, I'm not sick, I'm just tired." I recited to her again, exasperated. My father laid a gentle hand on my mother's arm, she sat back in her seat as he gave her a look. I handed them a menu, inhaling deeply to regain my patience. I knew I was getting upset far too easily, this was classic Mom behavior and I usually had more patience with it due to a life time of living with it. But my wounded emotions wouldn't allow it, I really just wanted to be alone to nurse them_. This was such a bad idea, why did I agree to this? …To try to get past it, to get past him, to get past everything. Ugh._ My father snapped me back to attention.

"So where did you decide to put your new mirror?" I resisted cringing, forcing myself to shrug.

"I don't really know yet." I mumbled back to him.

"Are you eating?" My mother demanded, nearly cutting me off. Surprised, I glanced up at her, and then mentally chided myself for being surprised.

"Yes. I am eating."

"What are you going to order?" My father was still trying to make pleasant conversation, ignoring my mother's outburst.

"I think the—" Was the only thing I could get out before my mother interrupted again.

"How about sleeping? Are you getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine, I'm getting plenty of sleep."

"You said you were tired," My mother seemed to be on the attack, unfortunately she was attacking me about me.

"That doesn't mean I'm not getting enough sleep," I bit back at her, now annoyed.

"Yes it does, you should sleep more. You need to sleep more, look at you." I would have just nodded and agreed before, it was always easier to let her opinions go in one ear and out the other rather than contest them. Now, though, I didn't want to tolerate it.

"I look fine! I feel fine! Stop nagging me!" That was the wrong thing to say, she was insulted, she never thought she was a nag.

"I am not nagging you!" She seemed startled, perhaps because I had never really argued with her before. She opened her mouth to continue, but my father decided to cut in.

"Marilyn! Marilyn, enough! She looks fine, and if she says she feels fine, then she does." He turned to me while my mother huffed. "You really do look great, Gwen. Were you working out?" His question gave me pause. In this life I hadn't_. But my other one…? No, no, no. _I shrugged at him.

"No…Good lighting?" He smiled at me gently, accepting it.

"I think you should go to the doctor." My mother broke in again, she was being obnoxious, and was upsetting me. My father saw it, she was making the whole dinner uncomfortable. I had had enough, what little patience I had retained was now gone. Fixing her a ferocious glare worthy of my imaginary Phantom, I leaned over the table.

"Mom, I love you. You know that. But if you do not stop smothering me, I will have to strangle you in your sleep." The threat was an exaggeration, but the irritation behind it was sincere. My mother's eyes widened, both my parents froze for a minute. I had never really spoken up to them, not even when I was a hormonal teenager. My father burst out laughing, my mother stammered at me, shocked.

"Gwendolyn Shepherd!" She tried to scold me, I shrugged, now seeing the humor in it along with my father.

"Sorry Mom, but you're driving me crazy. I promise I'm taking care of myself." She scowled, but as my father continued to laugh, and clapped a hand on her shoulder, her feathers de-ruffled and she actually started to smile a little.

"Well, as long as you promise…" She mumbled, her smile begrudged. Dinner went moderately well after that. Leaving, my mother squished me in a hug, and then I was embraced by my father. He wasn't normally the type that would do that, I was a little surprised. As my mother was going to get the car, he stared into my eyes.

"Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little sad." It was a simple comment, but meant the world to me, his concern. I couldn't tell him how truly "sad" I was, my heart was not only broken, but shattered. I was confident though, absolutely, that I would be able to pull through, that I would only get stronger. _This won't kill me, I _will_ get stronger._ Staring him levelly in the eyes, I reassured him.

"I am, but I'll get through it. I promise that too." He stared at me a moment later, and then nodded.

"You've changed, Gwen. But not in a bad way." I gave him a brilliant smile, praise from my father was like solid gold. He said his goodbyes as Mom pulled up in the car, I waved goodbye and walked out to the street to hail a cab.

- - -

Three days passed, and I immediately felt deathly bored and suffered from severe cabin fever after only getting through a single morning alone in my apartment. And in just the past three days, I had been to the grocery store five times, I took a day trip to the museums on the mall, went to the library, and had seen a movie. All of this because I couldn't stay in the house, couldn't take being enclosed in such a small space. I felt a strong compulsion to be near the mirror, and even though the sight still made me nauseous, I couldn't help myself.

It was Friday again, a week since it had all "happened". I had taken the mirror from the closet, officially, after removing it and then replacing it six times. I stared into it dully, the sight of it no longer made me cry, only hopelessly depressed. I kept telling myself that it didn't happen, that I had imagined it. _Time to move on, Gwen. This won't kill me, it can't. So it has to make me stronger…_

After an hour, I abandoned the mirror there, and laid down on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. Fighting back the imaginings of my perfect evening; me, Erik, mint chocolate chip ice cream, a blanket, and old movies, I flipped on the TV, hoping to distract myself. Getting involved in a nature show, I nearly dropped my ice cream when someone knocked at my door. Setting it down on the coffee table, I paced to the door, opening it. I gagged when I saw the person standing there, light eyes filled with emotion. I faltered, stammering with shock, backing up, away.

"Gwen."

At the door, moving to step inside, was Josh.


	57. Everything In My Power

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

57

"Everything in My Power"

"Follow her?" He asked blankly, her words shocking him. They had been the very last thing he had expected, it almost sounded like she cared. Truly cared, for him, his feelings, not just for her own. She had, for some reason, suddenly wanted him for herself, going as far as attacked Gwendolyn to get what she wanted. _But now…Now she urges me to follow her rival, the woman she most obviously detests. Could it be possible that Christine—Christine cares about me?_ She leaned over to grip his hands, ignoring the fact that one was still coated in blood.

"I saw her disappear, Angel. She went through the mirror. You must hurry, I can distract them, and you can follow her." Staring in the cinnamon eyes, eyes he had loved so very deeply, he felt a rush of warmth for the girl that he had not felt since she had left him. The police were regrouping beyond her, already several rifles were pointing at him. Christine's husband was calling to her, hanging back, hoping she would come to him out of her own volition. He knew his time was short, if this, somehow, was going to work.

"Christine. You create your distraction; I will take the mirror backstage. There, I will go through. You must find the mirror and smash it, this is vital, or anyone will be able to follow. Do you understand?" At his sharp and urgent words, she nodded vigorously, eyes widening. She tightened her grip on his hands.

"I will. I will. " She sat back on her heels, preparing to stand, to begin her distraction. But she hesitated. "Please, I want you to know…I never meant to hurt you, I was selfish and afraid. Please, know that although I am still…like that sometimes, I truly care for you, and want you to be happy." He wanted to immediately sneer at her, distrustful and contemptuous. But as he eyed her, unsure whether to trust her words, she stared into his eyes, sincere and regretful. She had wounded him so deeply before, he felt like he could never entirely trust her again. _She—she does not lie. She means what she says._ They weren't just pretty, meaningless words, her eyes told him. She really meant them. He softened, allowing himself to trust her, to respect her, if only just a little.

"You are not the child that you were before, you have grown, Christine. I wish for you to be happy as well. In my home, below, there is a chest. In my study. You must get the chest, it contains my entire life savings. I am giving it to you to do with whatever you wish. Hopefully it will be more useful to you than it was to me. …Thank you, Christine." She gave him a tear-filled smile, gentle and warm. He grasped the mirror, muscles tensed, ready to flee. She stood and turned, facing the multitudes before her, squaring her shoulders, not entirely fearlessly, but with strength that surprised him. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, eyes thick with anxious energy.

"Before you leave me, Angel, _please_, tell me your name!" She then started to scream, shriek at the top of her powerful, classically trained lungs. He leapt to his feet, directly behind her.

"Erik. My name is Erik." She gave a shout of absolute delight for a split second, and then went back to screaming, dashing forward towards the police officers, wildly waving her arms. It worked, everyone, audience, managers, performers, police, and husband, turned to stare at her, at her bizarre and unexpected behavior. Bleeding but no longer broken, he swung the mirror under his arm and bolted off stage.

o o o o o

I should have slammed the door in his face. But out of pure, mortified shock, had stumbled back into my apartment, giving him a clear path to enter. He looked very much the same, he hadn't changed practically at all over the past few months. His curly, sandy brown hair was cut short like always, his big, bright eyes and golden skin made him seem open, charming, handsome, innocent. He was giving me his most charming, endearing smile, a smile I knew all too well. It wasn't a necessarily honest smile, I had discovered that he could pull it out of his sleeve at any moment, his equivalent to puppy-dog-eyes. As I floundered, struggling for words, for thoughts, anything but my shock, he began to speak again, forcing the smile further, widening it attractively.

"Gwen, sweetheart, how are you?" His voice registered, the smile making me ill.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Josh!?" I demanded, finding my voice, it a harsh rasp. He hesitated in confusion for a moment, throughout our entire five year relationship, I had hardly ever raised my voice to him, expressed anger. I had been too intent on keeping him happy with me. Now, I didn't give a shit, and was absolutely livid that he had dared visit. That he dared even still _exist_, especially around me. He recovered, pasting back on the smile.

"I came to see how you were. I heard that you were, uh—_attacked_—and were in the hospital. I came to visit you there, you know. I brought you flowers." There had been several bouquets there, none of them the flowers I liked. His voice was slightly less smooth and charming, as if he was trying suddenly to pacify my anger. It wasn't going to work, as I stood there, as my shock drained away, I only grew more and more wrathful.

"Fine. So you think that a _ten minute visit_ to me in the hospital when I wasn't _conscious_ gives you the right to come here?! What the _fuck_ were you _thinking_!" My hands tightened into fists, itching to slam into his chin. I restrained myself, but was as taut as a wire. He began to walk forward, slowly, opening his arms to me. I backed away, feeling sick at the thought of him touching me.

"Gwen, Gwen, _sweetheart_, I just wanted to tell you how _sorry_ I am. Really, about everything. Seeing you in the hospital…I've never been so scared in my whole life… I thought I'd lost you." The old me would have wilted at such words, taken them in and believed them, deluding myself on purpose because it was easier to just believe them, believe him. I would have wanted him so badly that I would have accepted anything.

But all I felt instead was bile rising in my throat at the words. They were all such crap, such utter bullshit. I was completely speechless now, too much anger, resentment and bitter regret rising at once. I trembled slightly, out of pure outrage. But he must have thought it was the old me still, being weak and overcome with happiness and acceptance. He marched forward, trying to take me into his arms. "I missed you so much, sweetheart. I really did. You were all I ever thought about, I just needed to see you again. I know things have been rough between us, but I really want you to know that everything, everything I did, is all over. I don't want anybody but you. I love you."

The words offended me so greatly that a dry heave shook me, I felt violated, ill. "Gwen?" He looked confused, maybe even hurt, and tried again when I didn't respond, just standing there trembling. "Shhh, it's ok. It's me, it's Josh. I need you and I love you." All I could think about was the last man who had said those words to me, the one that existed only in my mind. But even if he wasn't real, I felt suddenly disloyal for allowing Josh to even be in my apartment.

He kept saying "I love you," giving me his fake-ass smile, holding me, caressing my cheek with his thumb. Rage stuck in my throat, bit at my insides, set my very skin on fire wherever he touched me. I lost control of my actions, lifting my arms to press my hands against his chest. He thought this was a positive reaction, leaning in to kiss me. Just as his lips brushed against my own, I heaved him away with all of my strength, he staggered backward, hitting a back wall. Confusion and anger, fusing over his features, after a second of shock, he strode toward me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Gwe—" He never even got the chance to finish my name, my fist clubbing into him at full force. He gave an awkward cry, clapping his hands over his delicately bridged nose, eyes wide with horror and astonishment.

"I gave five years to you! _Five years of my life_! You lying, cheating, dirty _bastard_! I _hate_ you! You destroyed me, you _crushed_ me! How _dare_ you come back here after what you did to me, I swear to God, _I'll break your fucking face!_" I launched myself at him, my fists flying out. His hands covering his face, I pounded at whatever I could reach, whatever I could hit. He huddled away against my barrage of fists, I struck out again and again, wanting him to feel physically all of the pain I had felt emotionally. All of the time I had suffered, I had not been myself. For all of the time with him that I hadn't been or known myself, all the time I had devoted to making him happy, him comfortable, meeting his every need. For every dream I had given up, my trip to Europe especially. For every minute of my life I could have been with someone else, maybe not Erik, but _someone_ that would have treated me the way I deserved. Someone that made me realize I was special, I was important, I was talented and beautiful and deserving love. My own madness overtook me, I didn't hear my own screams of rage, his cries of pain and shock. The last thing he had expected was me standing up for myself, much less attacking him, he had thought I would just take him back, grateful. The thought of what he expected only drove me further.

"I wasted so much time, my life! I can't _believe_ that I did that, I can't believe I gave up everything I wanted to be with you! And you were _fucking cheating on me_ _the whole time!_ Was any of it real to you, is there a _real person_ in there at all, or are you 100 percent bastard!? I bet you are, I will break your _beautiful, precious face!_ I will _tear you apart with my bare hands! Did you really expect me to just to take you back! You stupid, bastard, SON OF A BITCH!_" It wasn't even making any sense anymore, I didn't care, I just wanted to hurt him. He had backed into the far wall, pressing himself into it as best he could. Arms snaked around me, pulling me away from my victim. I fought against them, screaming, kicking, thrashing to get my hands back on Josh, to tear out his perfect, cheating hair.

"Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn! Stop, _stop_! Calm yourself! _Gwen_!" Someone was shouting into my ear, a rich, melodic baritone, weighted with crucial urgency. I whirled in the arms, ready to confront the new threat, to continue my attack, even if it was on another target.

My eyes met the face, flitting over the dark, slicked back hair with sideburns, angular cheeks with high cheek bones, the long, square jaw and finely boned nose, heavy black eyebrows. A white half-mask covered one side of his face. But it wasn't the mask that stood out to me the most, made me stop fighting to break free and inflict more damage. It was the pleading eyes, eyes that could both threaten and adore, the normal cloudy green bright with emotion. Deep with the emotion, making my breath catch, my insides freeze rock solid.

I didn't move, I didn't breathe, I doubted my heart even beat, stunned to the core, knowing, absolutely knowing, that it was impossible. He was impossible, he didn't exist. My mind was blank, wiped clean due to mind-numbing amazement. And then I felt woozy, still unable to understand, to do anything. My legs gave out, I slumped backwards as they buckled. I didn't move too far though, the arms tightened around me, holding me upright, secure. I didn't feel fully conscious, my whole body was heavy, especially my eyes, my mind. It didn't make sense, it couldn't be possible.

_Erik, Erik. It's Erik. It's him. It's really him. This can't be happening, am I awake? Holy shit, oh my God. Erik—_

_Erik—_


	58. Erik

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

58

"Erik"

"Erik!" I coughed at him, my brows so arched with surprise that they actually hurt. While I strived to wrap my brain around what was happening, I slouched into him, laughing, sobbing, attempting to keep breathing at the same time. I felt his hands run into my hair, bunch around my curls, his face drop into my neck, hot breath on my skin. I was just making noise now, somewhere between cackles of deranged laughter and heart-wrenching sobs. Completely surrounded by him, Josh's shouts for explanation didn't even register. "God, Erik—I woke up and I thought I had dreamed it all—" I jerked backwards, grabbing at his face to rip it upward so I could stare at him, in his eyes, to make sure that he was somehow actually here. "God, you're—you're really here, how? …How?" At my reaction, my outpouring of frantic feeling, he gently smiled, still trying to calm me, to reassure me that he did, in fact, exist.

"The mirror. I went through the mirror, only minutes after you." He muttered, I was about to ask another question when his lips pressed harshly against mine, cutting into whatever questions I still had. Shoving myself against him as hard as I could, I was infuriated when rough hands tore us apart, yanking me backward. Josh had seized me, his expression vicious as he glared at Erik.

"Who the _fuck_ are _you_? How did you get here? When!" He challenged. I wrenched away from him, tearing at his hand to get him to release me.

"What the hell do you care, Josh? You don't really love me, you just want to be with someone that will put up with your shit and take care of you when you aren't banging someone else! Let go of me!" I hauled my arm out of his grasp, tripping back over to Erik, who took my shoulders to steady me. Keeping a constant eye on Josh, Erik scanned my face, checking for bruises, scrapes, signs of abuse.

"He did not touch you?" He barked, anxiety dark and dangerous.

"He tried, but I wouldn't let him." His eyes lightened for a minute, lips quirking.

"So I saw. And thank God that you did not release your wrath on Christine in such a way." Reminding me of Christine, I stiffened. _He said he loved me, does he really?_

"You—you followed me. Erik, you followed me here, to 2007." I feared he would suddenly realize that he had left behind his world, his life, and maybe even his love. Reading my eyes though, seeing the worry in them, he leaned in to kiss me again.

"I left it for you. All of it. It was not worth anything without you in it." I laughed aloud out of relief, embracing him, but his attention had momentarily turned away from me. Pulling me tighter against him, he focused on Josh, who still lingered angry, confused, and shamed, by the door, not knowing what to do. Erik addressed him, his voice thick with fatal malice.

"You will never attempt to contact Gwendolyn again. You will make no efforts in ever seeing her, touching her, looking at her, or even thinking of her. If you do so, I swear to all that is holy to you that I _will_ kill you for the pain you have caused her." Josh wavered, his expression briefly wary, concerned. But then he struck his most confident pose, puffing out his chest to Erik's threats. Josh didn't know it, but I knew that Erik was serious. He was no longer the killer he once was, but I was positive he would make an exception for Josh if I so wished it.

"You don't own her. You can't tell me what to do!" His response was weak, ridiculous, and sounded liked the argument of a child being put into place. Erik stood up his straightest, releasing me. He was still wearing his same clothing, that of 1870, the stark white mask a startling contrast to his otherwise severe black. The cloak swirled around his feet as he strode towards Josh, black gloves clutching a thin object. Though he paces forward slowly, his hands were a blur of motion, the noose slipping around Josh's golden neck with unnatural speed. He jerked at the Punjab lasso, Josh lurching forward in response. The gurgle that left his throat was the only sound he made as he was brought to his knees, fingers, so like Fauvre's, tearing at his neck in effort to free himself. Though I doubted Erik would attempt to kill him right there, in front of me, a little worry waved around in the back of my head. I stepped forward, placing a light hand on Erik's death-dealing arm, casting him an imploring glance. Mollified, he twisted his hand upward, the noose letting go of its biting grip at its victims neck, and slipping into Erik's sleeve. I knelt by the gasping Josh, tucking a finger under his chin to force him to look at me. Direct and without any qualms or reservations, I spoke to him.

"You will leave me alone, Josh. I never want to see you again. And if I do, I will do much worse to you than Erik just did. You can be sure of that." I stood then, turning my back to him. He wobbily got to his feet behind me, backing away at first and then turning to run, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Erik chuckled deviously, taking me back into his arms.

"Forgive me for taking so long. I can see that some time has past between when you arrived and when I did." I buried my face into his chest, inhaling his scent.

"You said you only left minutes after me? I went through the mirror, I saw you, I saw—" My eyes shot open, I snapped out of his arms to run frenzied hands over him. "You were shot! Erik! You were shot! You—" I now saw the blood on his shoulder, it had soaked into the black fabric, blending in. I had been so shocked that I hadn't even thought of it, and now was horrified and terrified for him. Using his non-injured arm, he clapped a gloved hand over my mouth.

"I will be fine, Gwen, I—" I tore his hand away, still frightened.

"We have to go to the hospital!"

"No!" He snapped, just as frantically as me. Seeing how startled I was, though, he relaxed. "I have been surrounded by more people staring at me than I believe I have ever been in my life. Forgive me, but I am not yet ready to undergo the judgment of another's prying eyes. I will be fine, I simply require a few things. Some water, some cloths, any sort of tweezer or pliers, a needle and some thread, and some brandy." I nodded slowly, understanding, and dragged him into the bathroom.

"I can't believe you just did and said all that to Josh with a shot up arm. I didn't even know, it must be killing you." I worried at him, making him sit on the toilet while I ran some hot water in the bathtub. I ducked out, grabbing everything he needed as quickly as I could. Checking on the temperature of the water, I dipped some hand-towels into it, gesturing he was to take off the hindering clothing. He stripped off his bloodied shirt, revealing to me the angry wound, still bubbling up blood. Distracted by all the new plumbing advances around him, he answered vaguely.

"It is astonishing to realize how much you can accomplish when emboldened by love for another." I pressed the warm cloth against it, staring up at him from my position on the floor.

"…Do you mean that? …That you love me, Erik?" He winced at the cloth when it touched him, but made himself ignore it, leaning down to grasp my face.

"With more sincerity than I have ever meant anything in my life, Gwendolyn. I do love you." A stupid, wobbly, and absolutely joy-filled smile stretched across my face, I momentarily forgot his gunshot wound, launching myself at him in a crushing hug. Kissing every bit of him I could reach, I squeezed even tighter.

"I meant to tell you Erik, I meant to tell you before I left, but didn't get the chance. I have been in love with you for…I don't even know how long."

"Truly?" His muffled voice was weak, terrified that somehow it wasn't true. I rested my forehead against his.

"Truly, 100 percent." Finding his lips and kissing him passionately, I meant to prove it to him. He eagerly responded, for once, just accepting it, not doubting, not worrying, not thinking that somehow, it would be untrue. When we broke, he seemed to have an inner light, eyes vibrantly bright and the smile on his lips beaming. He laughed then, overcome, a bellow of pure elation. I gave him a dazzling smile, leaning forward for another fierce embrace. He hissed abruptly though, I pulled away to see, chagrined, that I had unintentionally put weight on the wound, still dribbling blood. Becoming serious, I cleaned it out, impressed by how he remained unflinching, resilient and firm. The bullet was buried still inside, he reached to take the tweezers from me, applying them to the wound. I watched, on edge, as he dug them into it, gritting his teeth slightly. After several seconds, though, he tore it out, letting it fall into the sink. The wound began to bleed more profusely, I washed it off again, knowing that behind his resolute eyes, how much it must be hurting him. Hoping to distract him from the pain, I inquired about him leaving, still wanting to ask the barely contained questions.

"What happened after I fell through, Erik?" His eyes darkened, he shut them as I ran the cloth as gently as possible over the gaping, seeping hole again.

"I spoke with Christine."

"What!" He cracked open his eyes, then opening them fully to let me see his sincerity.

"She wished for me to return to her, but I could not. I just could not. She saw how much I was in love with you and told me to follow you." If I hadn't been sitting already, I was sure that I would have had to sit down, Christine's command knocked me flat.

"She—she told you to _follow_ _me_?" He nodded slowly. I suddenly felt bad for punching her, but reminded myself that she _did_ want to take him from me. I gave him a weak smile, touched with slight remorse.

"Maybe I shouldn't have hit her…" He brightened, actually giving a real peal of laughter.

"I sight I shall never forget as long as I live." I laughed with him, but still felt a little bad. _I guess I owe her, she was responsible for me getting back Erik…_He continued his story.

"She told me that she truly cared for me, and wanted me to be happy. She did not lie…" He paused, thinking on it. I felt a flash of jealousy, pressing a little harder on the wound only half-way unintentionally. He smiled at me, as if it didn't hurt him at all. Reaching out to cover my hand, he ran his thumb over the back reassuringly. "Even if it is true, it changes none of my feelings for you, mon églantier." I relaxed, not knowing where how I actually felt for the young diva. I still didn't like her, that was for sure. "She caused a distraction, allowing me to escape. I left her my savings, and she asked for my name." I pursed my lips at that, I liked being one of the intimate few that knew his name. At least at that time. Now, it was printed worldwide in a classic novel.

"Did you tell her?"

"Of course. She allowed me to come to you, Gwendolyn. I felt that I could at least give her that."

"So you let bygones be bygones, hmmm?" I pulled the cloth away from the wound, inspecting it. He chuckled, eyes glinting at me.

"I am aware of your dislike for her. Believe me when I say that I feel nothing for her, and was only gracious that she provided me a way to get away from the rifles pointed at me, and back to you." I allowed him a begrudged smile, threading the needle for him.

"In that case, I guess I should be really grateful to her as well." Handing it to him, I winced slightly. "Are you sure you want to do this? They could give you painkillers at the hospital…" I knew it wouldn't fly, he was dead set on not being stared at again by anyone else for a long time. He took it from me, but reached for the brandy bottle as well.

"Ah. You see, that is what the brandy is for." He took a long swig, then splashed it on the wound and needle and thread to sterilize them. He then proceeded to sew up his own wound, intense concentration the only emotion his face gave away. I watched him, entranced, and a little horrified at the same time, knowing before I asked, how he knew how to do it.

"Erik…why are you so good at this?" He paused, glancing up at me for a second before returning to his sewing.

"I have had to sew up many wounds in my lifetime, Gwendolyn. The world was not kind to me." I felt terrible for him, his words were so calm, emotionless, that they were heart-breaking. When he finished, he washed the newly stitched wound off and faced me again. I stood, wrapping my arms against his head, pressing a light kiss to the top of it.

"I love you, and I _promise_ you that I will do _everything_ in my power to make sure it isn't ever cruel to you again." Staring into those cloudy green eyes, I meant the words with everything I had. His eyes filled with feeling, acceptance. He understood, only nodding.


	59. I Have

Hello, hello! Well, this is the last chapter, an epilogue. I want to thank you SO MUCH for reading and for reviewing if you did that too! This was my first actual attempt at writing anything besides papers and such, and especially Phan fiction, haha. I hope you enjoyed it, I certainly did, and learned that writing is a lot of fun. That being said, I already have two more phanfictions in the works, one being a sequel to this one. Won't be posted for a while though, simply due to not having a lot of time right now. It takes me a while, I like to write out at least several chapters that I'm absolutely happy with, because I tend to change the whole plot mid-story, haha. Took me several months, I started in March and finished writing/editting/etc in September. I would like to especially thank MrsTiffany Sparrow, also known as Flute Damioh on Fanfiction, for all the help beta-ing and editting, I wouldn't have been able to do with without you! Anyways, thank you everyone once again, it really means so much to me that you're reading, and I hoped you enjoyed the ride. :D

MissCyraf

What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

59

Epilogue

"I Have"

"Excuse me, Madame. A visitor has come to call, and would very much like to speak with you." Madame de Chagny lifted her gaze from the window, she had been watching the rain pelt against the panes of glass, the sky opening to sooth the dryness of the land away. She rarely entertained anymore, over the passing years had grown quiet, withdrawn. Raoul hardly saw the point to inviting guests if she did not properly entertain them, so whenever he wanted to socialize, which was often, he left the household. Her children were also gone, her twin boys were in boarding school abroad in England. She was alone.

"See him in, Frederick." She replied softly, curiosity raising her out of her melancholy. Though it did not rain often, and the land sorely needed it, it only reminded her of her long carriage rise back from the Opera Populaire, thirteen years ago, and always would.

Raoul had been most displeased when he had seen the Phantom flee the stage that night, distracted by her wailing. When he had attended her, and seen that nothing was wrong, that she was merely afraid, or so she had told him, he had been furious. He had forgiven her over time, but in the carriage ride home, he had not spoken to her, dead certain that the infamous Phantom would follow them to their graves. Christine had known this wasn't so, and told him often that he no longer needed to worry. Raoul was always loving and comforting over the years, he did not hold the Phantom's escape against her. But they had grown apart. And even after all the time that had passed, he still sometimes spoke of "the demon" that had ruined her life, ruined her. He blamed the Phantom for her turning away from him, believing her to be possessed or fearful of a man's touch. That wasn't the case. Christine had known she was in love with Erik that night, but also had known that it wasn't to be. He had left her then, left her to the world that she had so embraced only months before. He was gone, forever. Happy without her. She had never sung again.

The man shuffled inward, handing his drenched coat and umbrella to the butler. She stood, he took her hand and kissed it lightly, staring up at her until he righted himself. She shifted under his intent gaze, it reminded her of another's. Taking a seat, and waving to indicate that the stranger do so as well, she waited for him to introduce himself.

"Madame de Chagny? I am Gaston Leroux, and I would very much like to speak to you of some events that occurred years ago. You see, I am writing a book." Christine eyed him, her quiet curiosity growing.

"Years ago, Monsieur? I must confess, I hardly ever think on the past." She tested him, discouraged him, but he continued, persistent.

"You were then known as Christine Daae, yes? The glorious soprano that triumphed at the Opera Populaire until the night of a particular disaster, only to return months later for a final confrontation?" She smiled now, a hidden one.

"Yes, that is true." She allowed, waiting.

"I would like to speak to you of the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera'." Frederick bustled in, setting a tea set between them, dropping in a cube of sugar for his mistress.

She lifted the teacup to her lips as he left, eyes on her inquisitive guest. She considered for several moments, sipping daintily at her tea. Setting down her teacup, she spoke, the first real smile dancing on her lips in years.

"Erik. His name was Erik."

o o o o o

I squinted as we strode into the building, Erik squeezed his eyes shut, swearing softly under his breath.

"I will never get used to that damnable sunlight." He growled, rubbing at his eyes, and then blinking furiously for them to adjust. I laughed at him, taking his arm, and pulling him further inward. It still had all of the original gilt carvings and statues, the same marble pillars and floors. They shined with exuberant polish, making the rich colors of the drapings and lavish ornamentation glow. I distinctly remembered being on my hands and knees scrubbing polish into those floors, carvings and statues, the memory brought a smile to my lips. _I suppose they use machines now…_Before us, the Grand Staircase stretched upward, reaching for the second floor's balconies. Levels of balconies persisted upward, finally cresting into a magnificent dome. I sighed, feeling suddenly like I was home again. The Opera Populaire still stood, just as bold and brilliant as ever. I squeezed Erik's hand, his eyes surveying the architecture.

"It looks very much the same, they have kept it in good condition." He muttered, his melodic voice tinged with awe, deeper with heavy emotion_. I'm moved by being here again, but what he must feel…This was his home, the place he had spent most of his life._ Now all the people in it that he had known were dead and gone, over a hundred years in the past.

We wandered, ignoring the tour group that filtered in past us. Erik wore his classic white half-mask like always, a consistent contrast to the black clothing he preferred. Ironically, he wasn't the only one wearing a mask. Several tourists were wearing them too, they sold plastic imitations at the gift store. Erik had at first been marginally insulted when he saw this, never forgiving Leroux's novel for being written, especially when it was so inaccurate. Now he ignored them, refusing to acknowledge his fame.

He had done as he promised, he had taken me all over the world. Paris was our last stop. I had never thought it could happen, never thought that he could really make good on his promise. When he first arrived, he hadn't any money, any clothing, any anything. But we had discovered, much to my utter and complete shock, that a bank account had been created for him, an inheritance of sort, a hundred and thirty seven years ago, holding a vast account that had only increased exponentially over time. It had been under my name, though, so when I went to the bank a week after he arrived, the teller told me. Somehow, they hadn't found it until just recently, he had said. I had thought then what a funny, strange thing time really was. There was a note though, insisting that I couldn't access it until I came with "Erik". It was all very strange, the teller said, but he had to follow the directions. The teller told us that it would take a few days for the money to get transferred, as it was a European account. I wondered aloud to Erik how it was possible, he thought it was because he had given Christine the money, and the only way he could get it was with me. Raoul _did_ know my full name, he theorized, and it wouldn't be too difficult to set up an account. He wasn't all together too surprised by how it was done, more so that she had done it for him. It had also come with a letter, which had to be sent in the mail. When it arrived, the only thing that it said was "Opera Populaire, Box Five." We were curious, me more than Erik, actually, he said he was content to never return. I didn't think that was true, but he had continued, taking my hands and staring into my eyes with his cloudy green ones.

"I once promised you that if I had the opportunity, I would take you anywhere in the world at a moment's notice if you so wished it. I can see it in your eyes, Gwendolyn, and with this money, we now have that opportunity. We will go, and well will return to the Opera Populaire."

Thinking on that moment still made me melt a little, he had been so sincere, so heartfelt. Now we had gone everywhere, all over Europe, everywhere I had wanted to see. Although he had told me of all the traveling he had done in his past, he was just as enthusiastic, especially fascinated with the planes, despite the horrible airport stays. He had plastered himself against the little windows, content to stare at just clouds and ocean, the way the bright sunlight danced on them, for hours at a time. Throughout our time together, I must have only fallen further in love with him. He wasn't the same as he was at the Opera Populaire, his past no longer dogged his steps and weighed him down emotionally. He was lighter, his darker side only coming up occasionally. It was wonderful, he was more affectionate, caring, passionate, understanding…perfect…than I ever could have imagine. _Well, not perfect…_

We still bickered, often, but it was never serious, and I think he liked that about me. I challenged him. I liked it about him too, I needed to be respected and challenged as well. And usually, he ended up defusing the arguments anyhow, generally with a charming Shakespeare quote, knowing it would delight me. The last one had been the best, "teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt…" I grinned giddily at the memory of the passion that had followed. _Besides, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger…_

Snapping out of my rambling reverie, I focused back on Erik, who was now leading me up the Grand Staircase, running his hands over the balcony lovingly, as if in a trance. I wrapped my arm around his waist, all of a sudden very proud of him. I was always proud of him, how far he had come, what he had accomplished, how very, very intelligent and talented he was, but now, it seemed all the more obvious. How anyone had not seen his gifts was beyond me. _Well, I distinctly remember hating his guts when first experiencing him…_He turned to look down at me, a glowing smile playing on his lips. Tucked under his arm, he pulled me in closer. We reached the second floor, I broke away to walk over to a familiar portion of the wall. It was blank, no mirror. I ran my hands over the wall, like I had done a hundred and thirty seven years in the past. It was unbelievable. Erik came up behind me, placing light hands on my shoulders and squeezing gently. I turned to smile up at him, without saying anything, I knew he understood.

We progressed past another tour group, a young boy staring up at Erik as we walked by. He didn't cringe, or turn away, just gave the child a warm smile and kept on. I felt another swell of pride for him, stretching up to quickly kiss his cheek. We reached the box, it had a velvet rope slung across the entrance way. Erik hung back, considering, but I climbed right over it after checking to see that no one was coming. I didn't feel bad about it at all, pulling him over the rope. I felt a little like it belonged to him anyway, we weren't committing any crime. He stepped over it, his long legs easily stretching over it though it was at my hips. I took his hand again as we moved into the Box, it was dark, the power wasn't on as no one was allowed in there. We strode past the velvet curtains over to the rail, I was careful to climb the steps, remembering my tumble in the past. He leaned over it, brows furrowing as he took in the view.

"It is like no time has passed at all…" He muttered, running his hands over the rail. I wandered through the interior of the Box, looking for anything that might be unusual. And then I found it. Whipping around to grab his arm, I hauled him backward to where I was. He started to protest, but then cut off when he saw what I was pointing at. A black plaque with gilt lining was mounted on the wall. There was only one line, plain and simple. But as I embraced him, I knew it meant more to him than seeing the whole building had.

"To my Angel, forever and always. I hope you found your own angel." He turned to face me then, leaning away in the embrace so he could look down at me, gaze flickering over my face, eyes quiet, taking me in. Running a single finger down my cheek, he gave me one of the most gentle, loving smiles I had ever received.

"I have."


End file.
